


Paying For It

by rowenaaine



Series: only ashes in his wake [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Explosions, Felching, Fluff, Frenemies, Gun Violence, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Incest, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Knives, Lap Sex, M/M, Murder, Organized Crime, Parent/Child Incest, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Punishment, Pyromania, Relationship of Convenience, Restraints, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Smoking, Sounding, Spanking, St. Andrew's Cross, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 93,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14872670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenaaine/pseuds/rowenaaine
Summary: Penguin is kidnapped by Jeremiah Valeska and given an offer that he can’t refuse.What will happen between these two holy terrors? Will they clash like oil and water, or will their partnership flourish in Gotham’s shadows?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story starts about two weeks after Gotham 4.22 Finale, "No Man's Land.”

When Oswald came back to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the strange light - cold and clinical, like a hospital but with a golden hue. The second thing he noticed was that he was bound to a chair but his right ankle had been left free - almost as though his kidnapper had a modicum of consideration for his crippled leg. Oswald stretched the limb out, even as he sneered at the potentially kind gesture.

Penguin couldn’t recall being shot, stabbed, or hit. His memory was a little fuzzy, but he thought back to the moments when he had stepped outside of Warehouse 7 after examining the weapons shipment; how quiet the area had been after finishing his cigarette. His newest henchmen were not yet loyal enough to be properly trusted. Someone could have easily paid the crew to turn a blind eye.

He decided he must have been chloroformed and thrown into a car.

Whatever the method of capture, aside from the rope and handcuffs holding him in place, it seemed he’d been treated decently. He didn’t seem bruised or bloodied or had any pain other than the numbness and ache from the restraints. The crime boss was wary of such treatment; it didn’t mean his captor had a heart, after all. It could simply mean the worst was yet to come. 

Once his eyes adjusted to the light he tried to take in his surroundings. It was a vast room, similar to a ballroom in size. Much of the furniture was covered in sheets and clear plastic tarp for storage. While there was a good deal of focused light in the center of the room, the rest of the space and a visible balcony sloped away into dark shadows. The chair to which Oswald was tethered faced the side of a huge architect’s table, the surface some eight by six feet on an approximate 20 degree slant, with a metal stool tucked under the lowest point. Golden light poured out of a sizable desk lamp and a secondary ceiling fixture, illuminating what appeared to be a huge map.

Oswald let out a noisy huff, starting to suspect who grabbed him...but not why.

He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, not that he would be able to access it. Yet. Nothing had been left near him, not even a paper clip.

"Hello?” he yelled. “Someone, anyone? Can I get some water?” No sense in keeping quiet. Oswald worked best when he could talk his way out of a situation. Staying silent would do him no good. “I hope you don’t plan to kill me, you won’t get much for a dead Penguin.”

A door opened behind him and gentle, quick footprints approached. A petite blond woman in black jeans and a black and red diamond-print sweater twisted the cap off a cold bottle of water and gestured to him, offering a drink.

“Thank you, yes.” She tipped the bottle against his lips and patiently held it while he drank his fill. “What’s your name, little lady?”

The blond smirked, putting the cap back on the bottle and depositing it on the floor under the desk stool well out of Oswald’s reach in the unlikely event he’d get free of the cuffs and rope.

“I see. Protecting your identity. Well, if you won’t tell me your name, can you tell me the name of the nefarious person who had me brought here?”

“She’s far too intelligent to converse with a hostage, Mr. Cobblepot,” a toneless voice called from the open door. Oswald’s mouth turned down and he rolled his eyes at the familiar sound, but his stomach did a little flip all the same. “Thank you, dear. I’ll entertain our guest if you’ll keep watch.”

Oswald watched the young woman look up toward the disembodied voice, bow her head reverently and cross the room to stand in the shadows.

“Oswald Cobblepot. Feeling well I trust?” The man that owned the odd, flat voice walked past Oswald’s chair and stopped about 3 feet away, turning slowly to face his ‘guest’ with his gloved hands clasped in front of him.

“Jeremiah Valeska. If you’d wanted to invite me to a meeting, a simple phone call would have sufficed.”

Oswald took in the sight in front of him. Jeremiah was wearing his black and purple wool suit with a crisp white shirt and pale green paisley tie. Valeska had a fancy for this color combination. Penguin had a fancy for men of sartorial elegance. Penguin noticed this tie was yet another shade of green in Valeska's wardrobe - a shade that almost matched the man’s otherworldly irises.

“Hmm. I suppose. But I don’t usually go in for ‘simple.’ I like productions; spectacles.”

“Like the bridges you blew up?” Penguin smiled.

“Exactly like.”

The two men stared at each other for long moments, neither wanting to be first to break the stare. Jeremiah had the advantage, however; his incandescent eyes didn’t seem to blink. Ever.

Penguin lost that round.

“So, shall we get down to brass tacks? I suppose you wonder why I’ve had you summoned.”

“The thought entered my mind. Can you untie me so we can converse as equals?” Oswald tried hard not to grimace at the fact that his arms were nearly deadened from the pins and needles after hours of being tied behind his back.

“I hardly think untying you could elevate you to my equal,” Jeremiah chuckled, white teeth too bright inside the frame of his blood red smile. “Try again.”

Frustrated, Oswald wriggled within the bindings. “Do you have any idea how powerful I am in this city? Someone is bound to be looking for me.”

“Tch, tch.” The sound Jeremiah made with his tongue reminded Penguin of Fish Mooney. “You _used_ to be powerful, Mr. Cobblepot. It seems those days are long past. And who exactly would be looking for you, other than Tabitha Galavan wanting to exact her revenge?”

Oswald stopped moving, face still. “Wait...what do you mean?”

“You know, I haven’t completely forgiven you for the round you put in my shoulder two weeks ago. I do have a rather high pain tolerance, but it’s more the principle of the thing. I’d really wanted to carve up that whip wielding bitch but you had to warn me off like some kind of romantic hero. I thought it odd at the time. I think you know I wasn't planning to have my way with her...and she certainly didn’t seem to be _your_ type,” Jeremiah deadpanned, spreading his red-gloved fingers like lazy jazz hands. “Frankly it would have made more sense for you to have shot _her_ for manhandling _me_.” He smiled knowingly at Oswald.

Penguin felt a hot blush rise to his cheeks remembering how he and Valeska looked at one another during their squabble over the core relay.

“But, word spreads quickly in the underground when a classic double double-cross goes down. It was all rather poetic, what you did to avenge your mother.”

“How,” Oswald whispered, “do you know anything about my mother? About anything?”

“Oh, Mr. Cobblepot. I’m hardly a newcomer to town. I’ve lived in and... _under_ Gotham for many years. There’s not much I don’t know. Did you think I’d thrust myself onto the scene without having thoroughly studied the landscape and its players?”

“If you’re looking for an apology because I shot you, I’m afraid kidnapping me wasn’t the best way to go about it. Plus, you look no worse for the wear. So why not just let…” Oswald was so absorbed in crafting his little speech that he hadn’t noticed Jeremiah close the distance between them.

“Oh I’m not looking for an apology, per se, _Penguin_ ,” Jeremiah interrupted smugly, running his leather-clad palm along Oswald’s cheek. “I’m looking for restitution.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Oswald tried to push away out of Jeremiah’s reach, but his bindings only allowed him to rock the chair backward an inch. “Stop touching me,” the smaller man whined, turning his face away. The heat that had risen to his face earlier came back with a vengeance and he hoped the man in front of him would interpret it as anger or fear rather than the desire he felt at their close proximity.

“Restitution. You know, for all the trouble you caused me that day. Breaking my footsoldier Jongleur, forcing my hand so I had to destroy my core relay, crashing my little bridge-blowing party with Barbara Kean and the rest of your goons, spoiling my tete-a-tete with Tabby by shooting me in the shoulder. Oh, and that bullet hole ruined my suit jacket, by the way.” He brushed hands down his lapels in mock disgust. “These clothes cost a small fortune. Luckily I had a back-up suit to wear while I get another jacket made.”

The pale man stroked Oswald’s cheek once again before he stepped away, putting a gloved hand to his chin in thought. “Hmm, what else? Oh _yes_ , giving Bruce Wayne and his butler a ride back to the hospital to check on that little minx I shot. That was a very bad play, Mr. Penguin. A very bad play indeed. If you wanted to rank high on my list of unfriendlies, you certainly achieved it.”

“What did you want me to do, sit back and let you blow the damn city sky high? You came along and tried to wipe out everything we worked so hard for. Why? And...what happened to you anyway?”

“Hmm?” Jeremiah cocked his head to the left, studying Oswald curiously. “What _happened_ to me?”

Oswald’s stomach sank. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, and he was really becoming frightened of this quiet menace. “Nothing.”

“No, you asked me a question. I want clarification so I can answer it.” Jeremiah stepped back until he was up against the table and then rested his elbows on the surface behind him and crossed his ankles.

“Well, I, uh...knew your brother.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Jeremiah gave an odd smile that put Oswald on edge.

“So, you were twins, yes?” Jeremiah nodded once. “So that leads me to believe something happened to make you not...quite...twins anymore. Right? You were a freckled redhead, I’m guessing? The, uh...the colors…not that you don’t look fine like this, but...I mean, not...”

“You’re wondering about my appearance. Let’s just say I had a little incident with some of the chemicals being used around town. Our mutual friend Scarecrow can fill you in sometime, but I’m sure you can figure it out. You were, after all, part of my brother’s little _posse_ ,” Jeremiah sneered. “Back to your original question - about letting me blow the city sky high? I know you can’t grasp this but I have plans to rebuild this city, and I’m not done yet. I can’t have you and your fellow criminals getting in my way and spoiling everything.” Jeremiah paused, glancing over at the blond in the shadows. She nodded and left the room. “Now, onto what you will do for me.”

The smaller man narrowed his eyes at his captor, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You, Oswald Cobblepot, are going to become my ally. I’ll let you in on my plans and you’ll keep me informed of anyone thwarting those plans - intentionally or otherwise. Be my eyes and ears out there amidst the element that remained here in Gotham. In other words, you’ll be my snitch. You’re quite the accomplished snitch aren’t you? Probably better at snitching than at actually running a criminal empire. You can be my little errand boy, like you were for Fish Mooney back in the day.”

Anger coloring his face, Oswald sniped, “Flattery will get you nowhere Mr. Valeska, and insults will get you even less. Why would I ever agree to help you anyway? You’re a complete lunatic!”

Jeremiah pushed off from the table and slowly paced back to Oswald’s chair, circling him as though he were prey. “My dear Mr. Cobblepot, you are so easily angered. A successful man controls his emotions; his emotions don’t control him.”

“My emotions are what keep me sharp. I’ve risen to the top and ruled Gotham thanks to my emotions and…”

“...And _lost_ Gotham thanks to those same emotions, what, four times now? Really. You’d think one would learn from such stunning falls from grace. Over and over again. Let me see: Theo Galavan, Edward Nygma, Sofia Falcone, my dear brother, shall I go on? Locked up in Arkham twice, elected mayor once and resigned in disgrace, making unholy alliances with the likes of Barbara Keane who now wants to murder every male in Gotham with her band of feminazis? What next? I think you’re a danger to yourself more than to anyone else at this point.” He leaned down and looked into Oswald’s eyes, a strange sort of pity on his face.

Oswald froze. This crazy man knew way too much about him; way too much about all of them.

“Let’s say I agree to...infiltrate the other territories and find out what they know and what they’re plotting,” he sighed resignedly. "What do I get out of it?”

Jeremiah smiled, a broad toothy grin that was simply mesmerizing. On his brother Jerome, the same grin was a contagious expression of joy, but somehow it was all _wrong_ on that chalk white face. Maybe it was that although technically beautiful, the smile never quite reached Jeremiah's eyes. Oswald swallowed but couldn't look away. It was like watching a train wreck.

“See, now here is where things get interesting. I already know you’re a master at the double double. So you’re not trustworthy in that regard. I would never really relax with you out there wheeling and dealing yet readying to stab me in the back at the first opportunity. So I’ve put some incentives in place to supplement any _compensation_ you’d receive. So, for the first reveal....”

Valeska pulled out his phone and punched up a video. He held it in Oswald’s line of sight and pressed play. It was time-stamped from that morning.

“No,” he whispered. “What have you done?” Oswald deflated in his seat, heart clenched in terror.

There onscreen was his boy Martin, unharmed but in a location that Oswald could not place. The child was surrounded by heavily armed men. He scribbled a note and held it up to the camera - it read:  _I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me, Mr. Penguin. I’ll be real good._

“Now, try not to worry your pretty little head, Oswald. I would have allowed you to call him but,” he shrugged, “you can't very well hear from a young man that is mute. Little Martin is safely outside of Gotham City limits. Don’t wonder how; I have my ways. He will remain safe and sound as long as his surrogate daddy doesn’t doublecross me. He’ll come home soon enough, this is just initial insurance so you know I mean business.”

Jeremiah put the phone away and flicked his right arm downward from the elbow in a chopping motion. A chrome spring-action switchblade slid out from his shirt cuff. Oswald drew a sharp breath, but Jeremiah only rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to cut you, silly. Just thought it was time to free some of your bindings. I need you focused and I’m sure the numbness is distracting by now.” The pale man stepped around the chair and sliced through the ropes that bound Oswald’s torso and arms to the back of the chair. “I can’t undo the hand or ankle cuffs quite yet, I’m sure you understand. Right now, the worst you’d be able to do is use your weight to throw the chair to the ground and there’s no point in that.”

Since seeing Martin’s video, Oswald remained silent. His mind whirred through all the possibilities but he saw no way out of this room much less this situation unless he at least partially agreed to this monster’s demands. Martin was not expendable.

“Now, for my second incentive. All to keep you on the straight and narrow, of course. Well. At least the narrow,” Jeremiah chuckled, enjoying his pun at Oswald’s expense. The other man refused to rise to the bait and showed nothing on his face.

“You were close to Jerome, hmm?”

Oswald looked up at the mocking tone to Jeremiah’s voice. “What are you talking about? You already commented that I was in his little, what did you call it, posse? Yes. I worked with him when he escaped Arkham. What about it?”

“Now, now. Don’t be modest Mr. Cobblepot. I’m talking about while you were both in Arkham Asylum. Practically roomies, yes? Separated by only a little air vent?” Jeremiah smirked like he knew the secret of ages. Oswald started to wonder if maybe he did.

“What could you have possibly heard about my friendship with Jerome. He’s dead,” Oswald murmured, unnerved. If Jeremiah guessed even a fraction of what went on in Arkham between him and his brother, he could blackmail him seven ways to Sunday, nevermind keeping Martin. Luckily the other party was in the ground.

“Well, that’s the thing about my twin. He’s the gift that keeps on giving.” Jeremiah pulled a black notebook out of his inner breast pocket with a flourish. “That cad kept a journal!”

The smaller man let out a dismayed groan and hung his head.

“Oh, come now. We can have fun with this one, _little bird_ ,” he teased, rubbing the spine of the journal along Oswald’s cheek. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of a little playtime, seeing as your friend Mr. Nygma is so busy with Professor Strange...not that he’s likely to come around to your way of thinking anyway. Darn ladies man.”

“Don’t talk about Ed like that.” Oswald bit out. “There is nothing between us and never has been.”

“Yes, I heard about that as well. Such a sad, unrequited story. What did I tell you about emotions, Oswald. Seems like we need to cure you of them. Anyway, unless you have a boyfriend that I don’t know about, well...how many men left in Gotham do you think you can trust to not shove a shiv between your ribs while doing the horizontal mambo?”

“And how do I know _you_ won’t?” Oswald spit out furiously. “You’re disgusting, Valeska. Just because you’re Jerome’s twin…”

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t. Be. Hasty, little bird. I’m Jerome’s _identical_ twin. And you're a size queen. Chew on that thought for a moment or two. Our scars may not be in the same places, but rest assured the gifts we were given at birth are definitely on par. I should know. He and I were _extremely close_ before I was sent away.” Jeremiah rolled his shoulders and slipped the book back into his jacket. “Listen. I’m happy to know that my brother got up to some shenanigans with a boy as pretty as you. I’m envious. Hopefully I won’t have to be much longer.”

Oswald swallowed audibly. “Why are you doing this to me? I simply shot you in the shoulder, I didn’t murder your best friend or steal your fortune.”

“Why? Because I can. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d entertain the thought of working - or sleeping - with me if I simply asked, so...I strategized a little.”

“You are a cold motherfucker, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I guess am.”

Jeremiah turned away and strode over to the table, removing his gloves and checking his phone.

Oswald considered all that had been put before him. “Jeremiah. You said something about compensation. Do I get something, other than...whatever it is you were just dangling in front of me?” He scoffed at how ridiculous that phrasing sounded considering what they had been discussing and Jeremiah let out a peal of laughter.

"Yes, yes. You’ll be compensated for the work. I have money, that’s not an issue. Although, just like last time, I’m not carrying $50M on my person. We’ll work out a suitable amount on retainer and additional compensation will be based on the value of the information you bring me.” He cut his glance over to Oswald and raised his eyebrows. “The sex is just a bonus. For you. If you decide you don’t want any part of that, fine. But judging from this little book of secrets, I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement…”

“Enough, I get the picture. Thank you. I think. Now would you please uncuff me before there’s permanent damage to my shoulder blades?”

“Shhh. Yes, yes. I wouldn’t want to,” Jeremiah smirked, “adversely affect that amazing flexibility I read about.” He slipped the key from his front pants pocket. “You will behave, I presume? Little Martin is counting on it.”

“Yes,” Oswald hissed. “Just. Open the cuffs. And can someone show me to a bathroom soon? It’s been awhile, you know.”

“Indeed.” Jeremiah first got down on one knee in front of Oswald’s left ankle, unlocking the cuff and quickly spinning out of reach in case the kingpin decided to throw a kick in his direction.

Oswald had to hand it to him, Jeremiah was very graceful and certainly looked good in a suit. After his comment about being identical to Jerome, Oswald couldn't help but visualize just how good he'd look _out_ of the suit, even with his strange white pallor. This was a damn inconvenient time to be thinking like that, while handcuffed to a chair...

Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his shoulders loosen. He’d been in this position too many times in the past not to realize he’d have a good deal of soreness before he’d feel better, and he was genuinely surprised when Valeska gently worked at soothing the muscles in his left shoulder and clavicle.

“What are you doing?” He tried to sound angry, but it came out needy and relieved.

“Hush. The intention was never to hurt you, only to prevent you from striking out.” The man continued to knead Oswald’s shoulder, breath ghosting over Oswald’s neck as he worked. “I think you were tied up a little tighter than I’d requested. I don’t generally break my favorite toys.”

“So, I need to try and become one of your favorites,” Oswald murmured, sighing as his muscles relaxed under those clever fingers.

“Exactly. Though I don’t think you’ll have to try very hard, Oswald,” he countered.

Jeremiah rested his hands on Oswald’s shoulders when he was done working out the knots and leaned in to speak directly into his ear. “I’m a very reasonable man, Oswald. You’ll be free to go after lunch; I have no intention of keeping you here against your will.”

Jeremiah rang one of his henchman as he sat on the metal stool at his work table. “Send one of the boys up to escort Mr. Cobblepot to the restroom. Have someone bring lunch also, I’m sure it’s past time to feed and water our Penguin.”

"Jeremiah?" Oswald finally had enough strength in his legs to try standing, and Jeremiah was immediately at his side to grasp his elbow and make sure he didn't fall.  "Would it be possible for me to have a smoke after I relieve myself? I've been dying for a cigarette since I came to."

"If you wait until they bring you back here, I'll join you. There's a window I crack open in the adjoining hall. See, I'm already sharing my secrets with you _little bird_."

Oswald smiled for the first time since being brought to that strange man's lair. He just had to figure out how to make everything work to his advantage. Like he always did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald turns to Jonathan Crane for some answers to his questions about Jeremiah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thrilled to see the comments on this fic and that people are interested in this ship. One of my favorite scenes from 4.21 is Jeremiah's confrontation with Penguin and the others, so I wanted to play a little with the dynamic and see what comes of it.
> 
> This is a short transition chapter. Enjoy!

 

Scotch. He was going to need to drink a lot of scotch.

When Scarecrow showed up to Oswald’s latest Iceberg Lounge-styled lair, he found the kingpin sitting in an armchair doing exactly that: drinking scotch and looking pensive.

“You asked for me,” the distorted voice droned out into the high-ceilinged room, startling Oswald out of his daydream.

“Crane! Yes. Sit. Thanks for coming by on such short notice. Drink?”

“I. Don’t. Indulge.” Scarecrow sat on the very edge of the chair nearest Penguin, obviously having no intention of making a day of it.

“Hmm. Right. Okay.” Oswald took in the costumed figure at his side. “ I need information.” He handed over an envelope thick with cash. Scarecrow slipped it into his cloak; Oswald didn’t want to know where the pocket was, the outfit was just too damn creepy to give it any thought.

“Ask your questions.”

“Jeremiah Veleska. You’re acquainted with the man?” At Scarecrow’s nod, Oswald continued. “Did you...did Jerome do something to him?”

“The gas? Yes.” This was going to be like pulling teeth. Crane wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but once he got started the information would flow readily. Like all megalomaniacs, Jonathan Crane liked to talk about himself and his own opinions.

“What was he like before? Did you know him then?”

“Briefly. Met him a day or so before the blimp was...derailed by your interference.” Scarecrow’s crazy eyes stared unblinking at Oswald. “Very disappointing, that.”

“Yes, yes. We’ve been through all that before. Sorry I don’t play nicely with others. Don’t,” Oswald warned, when Scarecrow’s hand twitched minutely. All he needed was for this kook to shoot some wacky chemical out of his finger needles.

“Just. Had an itch.” Crane almost sounded like he was going to laugh.

“Did you just...make a joke, Crane?”

“On occasion, I enjoy humor. Especially at others’ expense.” The chemist paused. “Jeremiah was very different before.”

Oswald nearly got whiplash with how quickly Crane changed the subject. He sat up and paid close attention to the odd young man in the burlap hood.

“He was a mousey thing. Glasses. Nervous. Bookish. But, something under the surface. Smug, entitled, with a repressed rage. I saw it; so did Hatter. We thought he was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off. For all his supposed fear of his brother...and I know fear...” Crane muttered, “...he never cowered or cried or begged for his life. He just waited. Looked for an escape. Acted put upon. Trembled, yes. But. The trembling seemed more from holding back than from being terrified.”

Oswald’s eyes were round, visualizing the cold, sinister pale man holding himself back from harming someone. It seemed reasonable.

“So, he would have hurt Jerome?”

“Certainly capable of it. Just. Didn’t fight back. Jerome had him at gunpoint, so it was unevenly matched. Not resigned to his fate, just not able to let out the anger and resentment.”

“And that’s what your gas did? Released his anger?” Oswald splashed a little more scotch into his crystal tumbler.

“The variant was Jerome’s idea. I tweaked the insanity gas, first so that it wasn’t lethal. Second, to free deeply repressed inhibitions and eliminate fear. Jerome thought...he _knew_ Jeremiah was violent and sadistic underneath his ‘good boy’ facade. Said Jeremiah had done some things that ruined Jerome’s life when they were kids, and wanted to free his underlying psychosis as payback.”

“So, you think he is psychotic?” The hand holding Oswald’s glass trembled.

“I’m no psychiatrist, Penguin. But the man has a few loose screws, sure. The gas loosened them up further. Might have happened anyway at some point. Just needed the right stimulus.”

“So, he’s a remorseless killing machine.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. Yes, he has little empathy for others and no concern for consequences. His emotional intelligence is of a far lower priority than either his intellect or his impulses. But. If he chooses to kill someone, that isn’t part of the gas - that’s part of him.”

“Fascinating. And the change to his complexion?”

“Side effect. Unintentional, really. You recall some of the test subjects had similar changes. Some of the chemical constituents interact with extremities: skin, eyes, hair, fingernails. There is no pain or harm, purely cosmetic. A bleaching effect to some cell types, a discoloration of others. It depends on the subject’s own DNA. No way to predict that. He looks rather well considering.”

“Did he look like Jerome before?” Oswald felt a pang, remembering the redheaded maniac’s dark green eyes, wild smile, flaming hair and broad chest.

“Yes.  But no. Clearly went out of his way to not look like him. The glasses were not prescription lenses; purely for show. Lots of product in his hair to darken it. Conservative style. It was an intentional masking because when you looked closely, they were obviously identical twins.”

_Ah, ah, ah. Don’t. Be. Hasty, little bird. I’m Jerome’s identical twin. And you're a size queen. Chew on that thought for a moment or two. Our scars may not be in the same places, but rest assured the gifts we were given at birth are definitely on par._

Oswald blinked.

“One other thing, Penguin. Jeremiah requisitioned some of my gases for his own use. I can’t divulge their properties or purposes, but,” he noted Penguin’s sudden blanch, “I will, as a courtesy, tell you I’ve already used them on his behalf; he has neither the gas nor the recipes. That project has been concluded. For now. And did not involve you.”

“Thank you, my friend. Your assurances are greatly appreciated.”

“It’s nothing. A worried Penguin is not an effective Penguin. Now, if you have what you need?”

“Yes,” Oswald nodded. “You’re free to go. Thank you, as always, for your insight.”

“Until we meet again, Oswald.” Scarecrow took his leave swiftly and silently.

Oswald had no friends left in Gotham; no one to go to for advice. God, he was so lonely. Aside from Crane, who was left? Fries?  

Once again, Penguin found himself regretting killing Butch. He could have used an ear right about now. Yes, revenge was a dish best served cold, but he hated how the outcome also left him chilled. Butch was a decent guy, if easily led astray by his feelings for that - how had Jeremiah put it - _that whip wielding bitch._ Oswald had to laugh, that was priceless.

_Speaking of: what am I going to do about you, Jeremiah Valeska?_

Oddly enough, Oswald had been more frightened of Jerome over the course of their friendship than of Jeremiah yesterday - even though he had been effectively imprisoned by Jeremiah for a few hours. Jerome always seemed more hair-trigger; you never knew what would set him off. Jeremiah, in comparison, was calculating and calm.

If he was truly alone in this, he would just have to go for it. He’d made it on his own before Butch, before Ivy, before Victor Zsasz, before Ed Nygma, and he would damn well do it again. He took out his phone and hit the newest speed dial.

“Hello, my friend. Yes, I wondered if you had some time today to chat...No, I don’t really have information for you yet, just…” he paused to listen. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I think we need to get to know each other better.” He finished his drink. “Now, now. Keep your mind out of the gutter, I meant actually talking to one another...No, I thought we had a lovely lunch and I didn’t mind your company at all.” Oswald fluffed up his hair as he paced the room. “You’ll send a car? Does that mean I have to wear a hood over my head so I don’t know where you are?”

Whatever the response was, Oswald blushed right down to his toes.

“Well, we’ll see who does what to whom, you shameless flirt. See you soon, Jeremiah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald visits Jeremiah and has a chance to talk to Martin. Later the two men learn a little about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in bold italics are Martin's written comments on his note pad. Regular italics are the character's inner thoughts.

This time when Oswald arrived at Jeremiah’s hideout, he knew exactly where he was.

This was the old Stravinsky Theater. Ballets and operas had been performed here when Oswald was a child, and the upper level was used as a dance hall.

The place had been abandoned for a couple of years due to a lack of public funding for the arts, not because the building was in disrepair. Most of the walls were a beautiful polished mahogany and the stained glass windows on the top balcony were still in pristine condition.

“Why pick the Stravinsky, anyway?” Oswald asked as his footsteps echoed in the ballroom where he met up with Jeremiah at his architect table.

“Oswald.” A smile tugged at Jeremiah’s ruby red lips. The other man smirked in return, accepting the offered scotch and clinking their glasses together. “Na zdrowie.”

“Polish.” Jeremiah nodded, peering at his guest over the rim of the glass, challenging him to make a snide remark. But Oswald merely looked thoughtful for a moment. “My mother was Hungarian.” 

Jeremiah said nothing, just gestured to two upholstered chairs that had not been there yesterday. Once seated, he answered Oswald’s initial question.

“I liked the aesthetic of this place. When you’ve spent as much time as I have surrounded by concrete, it’s only natural to want some elegance and color.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I would think that as bloodthirsty as you seem to be, aesthetics wouldn’t much matter as long as you were causing death and mayhem. Like,” Oswald sniffed, “fire and blood would be more your aesthetic.

“Hmm. Touche, Oswald.” Jeremiah took another sip of his drink and then rested it on his knee. “I won’t pretend that I’m unaffected by the destruction I’ve already caused in Gotham. It was quite beautiful to witness. All of it. But I’m a practical man. One can’t subsist solely on a diet of _fire_ and _blood_ . First of all fire consumes everything in its path. I like to observe fire from a reasonably safe distance and let it burn itself out. I’ll enjoy the heat, even get close enough to get a little burned, but the planning, process _and_ end result _all_ excite me.”

He paused and searched Oswald’s eyes for the indication that he was understood, or at the least, that he should continue. Pleased to see that Oswald was hanging on his every word, he licked his lips and resumed talking.

“As for blood, I prefer the reaction to the action, although again, the entire process has merit. I’m a planner, after all. Spent my life planning. Waiting. Now that I’m free to do as a please, I can use my patience to its best advantage. Watching someone realize that there is nothing they can do but succumb? Seeing in their eyes the knowledge that you hold their very life in your hands - that you own them and that surrendering to death or madness are their only choices? That is sublime.”

Oswald chanced a quick glance down to see how Jeremiah’s soliloquy was affecting him but his suit jacket hid any evidence. Oswald was almost ashamed at how hard he was himself at Jeremiah’s clinical assessment of killing.

“I, uh,” Penguin cleared his throat. “I identify to a degree. Knives.” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “I find knives, blades, stabbing to be one of the most personal means of dispatch, and I’ll admit to having been strangely aroused by the last moments of some of my victims.”

“Yes. I’m rather fond of blades. I haven’t had much opportunity to kill with one. Guns are so much more efficient.” He shrugged, “well, next to explosives,” he chuckled darkly. “But blades - knives - aren’t strictly for killing, am I right?"

Oswald tilted his chin, barely suppressing a shudder.

“They can be used for several purposes. Marking territory, for example. Sensual play. Bloodletting. Pushing one’s pain tolerance.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “I have a collection I’d be happy to show you some time. The latest addition was Tabitha’s karambit. Beautiful piece. Really wished I could have carved her up with it. Maybe now that you’re gotten your revenge, I’ll have an another opportunity.”

The smaller man nodded and licked his own lips unconsciously, perhaps thinking of Tabitha’s murder. How he’d love to watch.

“Well,” Jeremiah laughed, “that was quite the starter conversation today. And all of it arose from asking me why I chose this place as my hideout. Just to finish that up - it isn’t _purely_ the aesthetic. It’s in a useful location for observing people. The top floors are just high enough to provide excellent vistas with a view of the park and uptown to the north and the center of the city to the south.” He leaned over and deposited his empty glass on the floor. “Want to see the rest of the building and my living quarters?”

 “Yes, I would,” Oswald nodded. But Jeremiah’s phone rang, stopping them both in their tracks. The younger man held up a finger and flipped open the device once he saw the caller.

“Are you ready to stream? Good, good. Let me get to a computer.” Jeremiah walked briskly to a dark area of the room where a monitor was covered with plastic. The pale man lifted the plastic and pressed the power button. He looked over his shoulder at Oswald and made a “come hither” gesture with the fingers of his right hand. When Oswald was close, Jeremiah spoke softly into the phone receiver and then slid a keyboard out and entered a code. Suddenly, there on the monitor screen was one of Jeremiah’s henchmen, live streaming with Martin at his elbow.

“Martin!” Oswald cried, almost shoving Jeremiah out of the way so he could stand in front of the screen. The pale man chuckled quietly, not at all offended by Oswald’s rush to see the boy.

Martin had his notepad at the ready, and was scrawling what seemed to be an inordinate number of words.

“Is he writing a book?” Jeremiah laughed.

“He - he’s a very bright boy,” Oswald murmured. Finally, Martin turned his pad around to the camera.

_**I’m fine, Mr. Penguin! They are treating me very nice. I had pizza and ice cream. Both! Will you be working with Mr. J? They tell me that if you agree I can come back home. What is the weather like in Gotham right now? It’s sunny here. It’s weird that it’s always so gray in Gotham.** _

A tinny noise came from the phone, and Jeremiah brought it back to his ear.

“Mr. J, you want that I should have someone read that out loud?”

“No, no. I think Mr. Penguin can read it well enough on his own. Oswald,” he raised his voice to the man at his right side, “can you read that?”

 “Hmm? Yes. Yes. May I...may I address him?”

 “You may.”

 “Martin, I’m so happy to see you!” The small boy smiled brightly at these words, fearing his guardian would not be allowed to speak. “I’m glad you are feeling well, though those food selections, as you know, would not be my first choice.” He gave Jeremiah the side eye and the pale man barely held in another chuckle. “You behave yourself and keep busy. Mr. Vales...um, _Mr. J_ and I are in discussions and I think we will be coming to a suitable agreement. As soon as we do, everything will be fine. Am I right, _Mister Jay_?” He turned his head and looked at Jeremiah who nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

 “All will be well. Martin, do you have anything else to say to your poppa?” Jeremiah tilted his head toward Oswald, and Martin began scribbling again.

 _ **I’m being good and I don’t want you to worry too much about me, Mr. Penguin. I’ll be home real soon, I know it.** _ As an afterthought, he jotted, _**Thank you Mr. J** _ and looked expectantly at the still man with the white skin and pale eyes.

 “Of course. You’re welcome, young man,” he spoke stiffly to the video screen.

Penguin quickly jumped in. “Martin, before I forget. Yes, it’s a little dreary in Gotham right now, couldn’t even wear my favorite coat for fear of getting wet. Stay warm wherever you are, and I will see you very soon.”

The boy gave a joyous smile and nodded emphatically.

 Jeremiah murmured something into the phone and the video connection was shut down.

“As I said yesterday, Oswald, the boy will be coming home soon provided we can agree on the terms of our partnership. Believe me, it’s too much trouble to keep a child adequately occupied, even one as quiet and polite as he is,” he shrugged. “I’d like to give him back sooner rather than later.”

“I appreciate that he is being treated so well. Not everyone would be, er, so courteous.” Oswald swallowed his pride. As much as he found Jeremiah fascinating, his priority was to get Martin back in one piece and he wouldn’t entirely relax around the other man until the boy was returned.

“I’ve nothing to gain by harming him. Let me show you the rest of my living space, and we can sit down and talk afterwards.”

***

Jeremiah took Oswald to the first floor of the complex where nothing had been changed. This was where the Gotham City Ballet had originally made its home before its current location at the Paladin Center. An enormous stage was at the front, with seating for about 2500 patrons. The second floor, in a soundproof chamber, was the former home of the Gotham Philharmonic. The Philharmonic was dissolved about 20 years ago but the orchestra pit was perfectly preserved.

“Do you play?” Jeremiah asked as Oswald ran a delicate hand over the piano.

“I’ve dabbled a bit, nothing formal.”

“I started taking organ lessons as a boy,” Jeremiah said, not touching any of the instruments. “I was groomed to play the calliope that accompanied some of the more fanciful acts.” 

“Ah, that’s right. You and Jerome came from a circus background.”

Jeremiah sniffed distastefully. “Yes, well. Our mother was a snake charmer. In more ways than one.”

The next level up contained an industrial kitchen, stocked with food that would feed Jeremiah and about a dozen hench people. Most were non-perishable goods, although there was fresh milk, eggs, cheese, and a modest amount of fruit and vegetables.

 Two of Jeremiah’s employees were on staff at all times, and they worked in shifts. Most of the time, they occupied themselves watching television, reading books or doing crossword puzzles, but were at his disposal should he want to eat.

“Vegetarian?”

“What? No. No, the meat is just purchased frozen to prevent waste. If you fancy something in particular, I’ll make sure to have it the next time you come by for dinner. What’s your favorite?”

“Honestly? Don’t laugh, but...tuna steak.”

“Why would I... _oh_. Penguins eat fish. I get it.” He smiled softly, an expression that looked much more natural on his face than anything Penguin had seen before. It made Jeremiah look more human.

“There are dumbwaiters throughout the kitchen, and they go to all floors. It’s very convenient rather than having carts brought about on the elevators. Just something to keep in mind if you're here at some point and get hungry.”

The next stop was the 6th floor. They skipped over the 4th and 5th, Jeremiah indicating those were filled with storage and had very little usable space. There had been no time as yet to clean them out and find a proper use. The 6th floor was set up as a barracks; rows of cots and cubicle-sized portable bathrooms complete with showers and toilets. There was a mess hall in the adjacent room.

“Nice work,” Oswald murmured.

“Not my idea. My good friend Ecco thought of it, and I let her take the reins. She was instrumental in getting my brother’s followers on board with my plans and she did a good part of the weapons training with them. Her own sleeping quarters are on this floor, just not in the general barracks.”

“Is that the blond I met yesterday?”

“Yes. She is a Krav Maga and Jiu Jitsu instructor, a 7th degree karate black belt, and an ambidextrous firearms expert. She is particularly deadly right-handed with a 9 mm Ruger 1911. I recently witnessed her kill two armed men seven feet apart in less than 2 seconds - shooting them each through the heart from 30 feet away. She’s been my bodyguard for many years. I tried sending her out of town before the bridges blew and the silly woman wouldn’t leave even though I now have others to keep watch over me.”

Oswald’s mouth dropped open at the last point. “That’s the kind of loyalty you inspire?”

 “Apparently so.” He glanced at Oswald. “She and I have never been lovers, so there is really no other reason she would elect to stay behind.” He paused. “She just...believes in me.”

The 7th floor was Jeremiah’s. There wasn’t a good deal that made this floor distinctive from the one below it, other than the fact it had been partitioned off into three areas. The floor had previously served as some kind of lounge - the majority of furniture that was either covered or out in the main area were upholstered couches and easy chairs. Now Oswald knew where the two chairs that he and Jeremiah had been seated in earlier had come from.

Behind a fairly sheer curtain panel was a traditional wooden desk and black leather chair, a small seating area, coffee table, and a television screen. A window off to the left of the desk was notable for the ashtray on the sill.

“Another of your smoking spots?”

“Mmm,” Jeremiah agreed, looking around to make sure he hadn’t left anything important lying about.

“What, afraid that I might find your collection of dirty magazines?” Oswald snickered.

“Oh, not at all. Happy to share my pornography with you," he joked. "I was just checking to be sure I hadn’t left out my plan for total world dominance. Didn’t want to scare you off too soon,” the pale man smirked. 

“Aha. Today Gotham, tomorrow the world.”

“Something like that,” he winked.

“Well, confidence and ambition are two of my favorite traits, Jeremiah. Glad to see you don’t lack either of them.”

“Come on,” he smiled, leading Penguin to the last area - his sleeping quarters.

Penguin didn’t expect to be surprised by the set up, and he wasn’t.

Mostly.

The bed was a standard Queen size, cherry frame with a matching vanity, two nightstands and a tall dresser. A bookcase in the same wood sat against the wall opposite the dresser, and was filled with a variety of physics and engineering books. All very masculine and serviceable.

The decor is what surprised him.

A blood-red carpet filled the room, leaving about a foot of original parquet wood flooring uncovered all the way around. The bedspread and matching bed skirt were a deep violet satin and the same fabrication hung from the four-poster frame canopy. At the head of the bed under the violet shams, Oswald could see beautiful lilac satin pillowcases. Delicate silk throw pillows in two shades of pale green finished the look.

“Fit for a princess,” Oswald whispered in awe. “I mean, uh, prince.” He quickly glanced at Jeremiah to make sure he hadn't angered the man. But Jeremiah seemed charmed by Oswald’s assessment and admiration.

“So, you approve?”

“Approve? Well, yes, it’s stunning. I'd have pegged you for something more serviceable or conservative.”

“Growing up in a circus,” Jeremiah started, walking over and perching carefully on the edge of the bed, “I lived in and around garish, ugly color combinations. Bright oranges, blues, yellows, reds. Horribly stark, unimaginative primary colors like a box of crayons. Then when I moved on to my next world - Catholic boarding school and eventually my bunker - the world of color shrank down to just beige, brown, white and gray.” He ran his hand reverently along the closest bed post and looked up at Oswald.

Penguin stepped closer, nodding his head to encourage Jeremiah to continue.

“I was a conservative boy whose favorite colors were - quite incongruently - purple, red and lime green. There was no place in my world for that color scheme. I was already studious and introverted, and there was no way I was going to invite bullying and ridicule for such bold color choices in my decor or wardrobe. I had a dark purple comforter; that was about the only bit of color I allowed myself, and even that was almost black.  When I finally embraced who I was, I wanted an inner sanctum that reflected what I’d always held in my mind’s eye. This, more or less, is the dream bedroom I’d always wanted but forever denied myself.”

“It’s amazing,” Oswald admitted. “I had a home that my father left for me...I hope to take it back someday...and my dream bedroom was there. Very different from yours, but just as captivating.” Jeremiah patted the bedspread and Oswald drifted over and sat as if in a daze. “It was...white and eyelet and floral and lace. Roses. Violets. Lots of white. Gauzy sheers that let the sun in.” He looked over at Jeremiah’s window, covered with dark red blackout curtains. “I’d grown up in a tenement overlooking a dirty alley. My mother was obsessed with victoriana. I wanted a place that felt safe and bright, but kept a few bits of her mixed in to remind me of her warmth and love. That’s where the eyelet and lace came in. It was all just an image I’d kept in mind until I could afford to make that dream come true.” He looked at Jeremiah, the pale man watching him intently. “I got the best sleep of my life in that room,” he smiled.

Jeremiah nodded. “I generally don’t sleep much anyway. But when I do, this room literally pulls me down into a sleep so sound that I don’t wake before the alarm goes off. I’ve never had that luxury before. And I’ve only slept here about 10 times so far, but I actually look forward to sleeping now instead of dreading it as wasted time.” He rose gracefully from his seated position and waited for Oswald to stand before leading him to the bathroom. “Nothing terribly special in here, but it’s bright and clean.”

“Shower is pretty spacious,” Oswald noted. “I like the clawfoot tub. Very old school." 

“What?” Jeremiah asked at Oswald’s smirk.

“Oh, nothing. I just...I like baths.”

“I see. You want a bath now, then?” He turned and pretended to lift and shove Oswald into the tub.

“Stop, you beast!” Oswald smacked his hands down and eventually doubled over from laughing so hard. “Jesus, you scared me, Jeremiah! I really thought you were going to...”

“Well, you know I probably _could_ lift you, right? I think you’d be pretty easy to toss around, _little bird_.”

“Yeah, well, at least fill the tub before you try something like that. Or...” Oswald was fixing his hair in the mirror now, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. 

“Hmm?” Jeremiah sidled up behind him and bent to speak into his ear. “What was that? Did you say,  _‘or’_?”

Oswald sputtered and gave a self-conscious laugh. “ _Or_ , throw me onto that bed. Don’t throw me into a cold, empty porcelain tub, that’s just cruel.”

“Aha, the bed. Now there’s an idea. Why didn’t I think of it?” Oswald watched Jeremiah in the mirror; the man’s mouth was so close to his ear and yet he didn’t move. He didn’t get closer, nor did he move lower, where Oswald desperately wanted to feel those plush lips on his neck.

Jeremiah inclined his head slightly to meet Oswald’s gaze in the mirror, and Oswald tensed, expecting to feel the man press against him. Again, Jeremiah didn’t close the distance. There were at least three inches between them, but Oswald could feel the heat radiating from the other man’s body. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and it took all his willpower not to lean back into the pale man’s hips, seeking some kind of contact.

When Oswald finally turned his head from the mirror to look up at Jeremiah, Jeremiah put a hand on Oswald’s shoulder and gave a friendly squeeze. “Come on then, Oswald. Let’s go figure out what to have for dinner so we can sit down and have our discussion.”

And just like that, Jeremiah turned off whatever had been sparking between them and walked away.

Oswald blew out a frustrated breath that ruffled the fringe of ebony hair hanging over his eye, and then trailed out to catch up with his host in the adjacent room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion about embracing one's true nature leads to the terms of Jeremiah's business arrangement. Oswald makes a fatal error and backpedals to salvage the deal. Is Oswald offering something or is Jeremiah manipulating him to do so? Who is "the one who is victorious" in this scenario or are they both playing each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying the all the comments from my readers. I'm glad you're having fun with this ship!

The two men sat down to a humble but delicious meal of roasted chicken, potatoes and kale. The dining room, the same place they’d had lunch the day before, was in the hall adjacent to the ballroom Jeremiah worked in.

They made small talk during the dinner. Well, Oswald made small talk. Jeremiah listened and occasionally made a short comment or a noise of agreement. Mostly, Oswald talked and he focused on his time working for Fish and how he’d managed to turn Maroni and Falcone against each other.

Jeremiah found the background information interesting, though he knew some of it already from his research. It cemented his belief that Oswald was someone he wanted on his side but that he couldn’t necessarily trust him. Penguin had a real _talent_ for double-crossing everyone he worked with. Jeremiah wasn’t quite sure how to handle that.

It seemed the only people Oswald hadn’t fully crossed were Jim Gordon, and to a lesser degree, Edward Nygma and Jerome. When considering Oswald’s history, he came to the conclusion that it was Oswald’s infatuation with each of these men that kept him from completely destroying them. Oswald was an emotional creature, and his feelings of infatuation (perhaps even love) instilled a sense of loyalty in him that money couldn’t buy. It was a foreign concept to Jeremiah, but perhaps intellectually he could work that to his advantage.

After they finished eating, Jeremiah suggested they take their coffee and tea up to the balcony for a look at the stained glass windows.

“Why is there a bullet hole in this panel?” Oswald asked once they'd started walking around the perimeter.

“Ah. That was when the mysterious Ra's Al Ghul showed up. I’ll admit I was loathe to work with someone who looked like he came out of a Medieval painting, but he convinced me that I could benefit from his extended reach.”

“Regarding Bruce Wayne, you mean?”

“Er, yes. And he claimed to be an immortal being, though that’s not something I give much credence to since I prefer to deal in scientific fact. His immortality did seem cut short by that dagger your friend Barbara brought along, so I’m not sure we’ll be seeing him again. But to answer your original question, when I found him trespassing I tried to kill him and he managed to dodge six well-aimed shots in a row. I’ll want to replace that panel, it lets in a draft,” he deadpanned.

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, what is your interest in Gotham’s poor little rich boy, Jeremiah?” Oswald asked, sipping at his Chamomile tea.

“He lost his parents around the same time I was taken from my mother,” Jeremiah said wistfully. “I’d followed his story in the papers for a long time, but when I got to meet him I was amazed at how poised and mature he turned out to be. He was fearless in the face of the danger Jerome brought upon the city and then he offered me a grant to finish my generators. So, you could say Wayne Enterprises funded the bombs that helped bring the city to its knees.” Oswald looked surprised at that - apparently the GCPD didn’t make that tidbit known to the public.

“I feel I owe him a debt of gratitude for what he’s done for me, even unknowingly. Beyond that, I think he’s someone who will do big things for Gotham if he stops overthinking everything and just accepts his true nature. Like I accepted mine.” Jeremiah paused, looking down at his cup. “Tell me, Oswald. When did you come to accept who you really were?”

Oswald thought about it. “I don’t know that anyone's ever asked me that specifically before. I’ve discussed my ‘career’ with a few people but never in the context of when or why I chose this way of life.”

Jeremiah took a seat on a bench under one of the stained glass windows and gestured for Oswald to sit beside him. The two men were silent for a time.

“The first time I killed someone,” Oswald said, in a small voice. “I was 14. My mother had been robbed and roughed up, and I was unable to help her. I was small and weak and cowardly. I was never one to use my fists. But I was livid. The thief was a young man I’d seen in the neighborhood and I decided that I would come back and try to retrieve my mother’s wallet after dark.”

He glanced at Jeremiah, who was watching with a look of curiosity.

“It was silly looking back on it; the thief wouldn’t have kept her wallet and he would already have spent the money. But my instinct was to take back what was ours and hurt him for blacking her eye. When I came across him, not that night but the next, he recognized me and mocked me for being a sissy and letting my mother get beaten. That’s when I pulled out my switchblade. I’d only brought it to scare him but instead I stabbed him to death in the alleyway. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed watching the recognition dawn on him that he’d fucked with the wrong person. I enjoyed watching the light fade from his eyes as he whimpered for help that would never come. Walking back home, I felt a supreme satisfaction at making him pay even though I didn’t get any of our money back. I knew then that I had it in me to rise up from the slums, protect my mother, and become someone in Gotham.” He shook his head. “I failed her in the end, but I’ve never feared killing someone if I knew it would either further my cause or avenge a wrong doing. I continue to forge ahead again and again to take what I want, to take back what was stolen from me, or to cause suffering to someone who deserves it.”

Jeremiah’s eyes glittered like diamonds in the low light, seemingly impressed with Oswald’s story. It was freaky, Oswald noted, that the man never seemed to blink, and it was much more noticeable in this dimly lit, churchy-looking balcony.

“Am I a killer? Yes. Did I embrace that as a dark part of me? I don’t know that there was a _light_ part of me. Maybe my love for my mother was the only light part I had. With her gone...well, I guess finding Martin…”

“So, your emotional life is your light.” Jeremiah concluded. Oswald nodded after a moment.

“Yes, I suspect that is correct. When I made peace with Fish Mooney, a part of me loved her for what she did to make me into Penguin. My feelings for Ed…” he stopped, then kept going. “My feelings for Edward Nygma were pure in the sense that I found him to be the best friend I’d ever known; someone who accepted me for what I was and still admired me and wanted to learn from me. But I made some serious errors in judgment, and even though I think he could have loved me in return, once my mistakes were known his pride will not permit it. Still, I acted selflessly on his behalf a few times, proving to myself that I could indeed put love first. So, yes. My emotional life, at least to the degree that I know that I am capable of love, is the light part of me. The rest of me, I accepted long ago. I started working for the mob when I was 15, running numbers and doing low-level errands. It put food on the table and I never looked back.”

Jeremiah seemed satisfied with the answer, if a little regretful. “I wish I’d have embraced my true self before now. There’s so much time to make up for, I fear. I’ve had this ache inside of me to cause others pain since I was a child.”

“Why? Do you know what set you off?” Oswald asked, a little worried of the answer.

“Yes. I know exactly what triggered it. I don’t know that it’s as dramatic as your story, but our mother’s brother used to beat us. As early as 6 or 7 I can remember him hitting us for stupid things that didn’t require a beating. Leaving a tool outside of the box. Feeding the animals an hour late. Coming in a few minutes after curfew. Our mother allowed it; she said that Uncle Zack was the man of the family and would be the one to instill discipline in us. Jerome was tougher than I was and sometimes laughed it off, but I was timid and weak. I hated being weak, and I hated being punished for nonsense.”

Jeremiah stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his arms, almost as though he were pouting. Oswald fully turned in his seat to watch Jeremiah’s expression, but didn’t notice it change much as he told the story.

“At around 11 years old I started figuring out ways to set my brother up. If he didn’t mind the beatings as much as I did, he could have mine as far as I was concerned. So, I blamed him for things. Told lies about him. Set up situations where it would look like he was guilty. He finally figured out that I had done something and he turned on me. But, of course, only he and I knew the truth, so when he started to retaliate he only got more beatings. I could have set things straight of course, but it was too late. I had no intention of changing the balance of power back.” Jeremiah looked at Oswald who nodded in understanding. “Mother and Uncle Zack became quite convinced that Jerome was a genuine threat to my life. I’d hoped they’d send him to juvvie, but instead, just before our 13th birthday, Zack took me to a boarding school for orphans in the middle of the night and I never saw my family again. Well, until Jerome found me last month and we laid eyes on each other for the first time in more than 10 years.”

Oswald let out a breath. Jeremiah didn’t look at him, but said, “I’m sure Jerome told you some version of that story, didn’t he?”

“No,” Oswald murmured. When Jeremiah turned his head toward him he added, “I didn’t know you existed until he had Jervis Tetch get Xander Wilde's name from the headmaster at St. Ignatius. I knew he was looking for someone, but I didn’t know Jerome had a brother until the day before he died.”

“Fascinating.” Jeremiah put his hands on his thighs. “I thought he’d have told at least you about his all-consuming hatred for me.”

“Maybe you were the one with the all-consuming hatred.”

Jeremiah’s head whipped back to Oswald, and for the first time Oswald saw emotion on the pale man’s normally stoic face.

“Oh, indeed. I don’t deny it. I _absolutely_ had an all-consuming hatred. I hated Jerome, I hated Zack, and I hated my egg incubator of a mother - clown banging slut that she was. I don’t even know which of her tricks fathered us. I hated being born to that ridiculous family of losers and cursed to live in a goddamn traveling sideshow. There was so much potential inside of me that I would never reach in that sick, derelict environment. I wish I’d had it in me at the time to kill all three of them and burn the circus to the ground,” he snarled. “But I was a sniveling, pathetic coward. What I did have, however, was an intellect. The mind of a planner. I could plan and I could be patient. The plan didn’t quite turn out as I expected - it turned out better.”

His red lips twisted into a smirk. “I ended up using my genius IQ to get multiple engineering degrees at a great school. I was fostered by filthy rich benefactors. Mother and Zack tortured my dear brother until his mind broke, and then that psychopath turned around and killed them. Such poetic justice. The perfect story book ending.”

Oswald shivered, a chill running through him at the level of hatred Jeremiah felt for his family. “Jeremiah. I’m...I’m sorry you never had the kind of parent I did. My mother was a little left of center...well, maybe more than a little, but she loved me more than her own life.”

“That’s something I can’t even wrap my head around, Oswald. Probably one of the reasons I don’t like children. I can’t imagine taking care of one. I have no idea how that works. All I remember is a dirty, rat-infested trailer with two young boys who were either beaten or neglected while their whore mother snorted cocaine, drank cheap whiskey and got on her knees for anyone that would hand her 10 bucks for the next hit. How I wish I had just picked up a shovel and beat that bitch to death in her sleep.”

Jeremiah looked at his watch. “How dreadfully rude of me,” he said brightly, immediately back to his level, unemotional facade, “here I am recounting sunny stories of my glorious youth when we should be talking about our potential business arrangement.”

Oswald burst out laughing. Jeremiah smiled at Oswald’s unguarded reaction and nudged the older man with his shoulder.

“I could get whiplash with how quickly you turn on a dime, Mr. Valeska.”

“Part of my charm, I know. Keep up, pretty.” He smiled showing his perfect, white teeth this time, and Oswald blushed a little. “Shall we stay up here, or head down to the ballroom?”

“I’m fine staying right here. The lighting is amazing and I love the stained glass.”

“Okay. So, I’ve given thought to the compensation. I’m not entirely familiar with how payments run in the mob, so if I’m insulting you at all, just let me know. I know that what I’m paying these low-level lackeys of mine is a pittance so I’m not even making comparisons there. Just...if someone asked me to trade in information like I’m asking you, I’d expect a certain baseline before I’d even consider it.”

Jeremiah took a thick manilla envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over to Oswald.

‘You’re welcome to count it. There’s $150K in there as a show of faith. That’s not for specific information, that’s just, well...a retention bonus, I guess. Depending on what you bring me, the payments will range anywhere from $50K to $1M. We can negotiate that, based on how valuable the intel is, how hard it was for you to obtain it, collateral damage factored in, your personal expenses, etc.”

Oswald was stunned at the amount of money Jeremiah was offering and it showed all over his face.

“Oswald, I need you to understand that this is a serious business offer. I’m not looking for the number of blocks Firefly has surrounded by flames. With the city in disarray it’s the best time to make a power play before someone stronger gets a foothold. I want to know who’s moving in on who’s turf and what they plan to do with it when they get it; the cash flow in and out of territories; what weapon shipments are moving in and out of Gotham or around the city; who the drug traffickers are and their specific type of contraband; who is running the significant gambling cartels; where the blood sports like dog or cockfighting are being held; any contract hits by whom and on whom; even the meager prostitution and car stripping rings. If you agree to this, you are my eyes and ears in the city. I will give you the authority to act on my behalf. I’m not offering to put Gotham back under your control at this point, but I am offering you an opportunity to help me map out the situation and ultimately take over the city. But we do things my way, and if you step too far out of line you will be dealt with accordingly.”

Oswald calculated some figures in his head. The last time he had money like this was before Sofia Falcone came to town; back when he was licensing crime. Could he keep his ambition quelled long enough to fulfill his obligation to Jeremiah? What if he could springboard from this to partnering with someone else and kill Jeremiah once he’d bled him dry of all his cash?

“You have a pensive look on your face, Oswald. Are you plotting my demise already? I know you’re ambitious, but really. The cash hasn’t even cooled in your hand yet.”

“What?” _Caught._ “No, I...yes. I was actually figuring out how long I could work with you before killing you and taking over Gotham myself.”

Jeremiah’s was so amused by Oswald’s honesty he laughed out loud. “Of course you were. So predictable. Believe me, I’d want to kill me too if I didn’t have a vested interest in breathing.”

His chuckles died down and he sat back and shook his head. “Dear me, what am I going to do with you. You’re either lying to humor me, or you know I've read you correctly and you’ll need to plead for your life.”

Out came Jeremiah’s spring-loaded switchblade from his right sleeve and Oswald tried very hard not to blink. “So, let’s have it. Are you humoring me, or will you get on your knees and plead, little bird?”

Oswald closed his eyes and slid to the floor, leaning on Jeremiah’s thigh so he could kneel in front of him with the majority of his weight on his left knee. Jeremiah smiled gleefully at Oswald’s submission, surprised the smaller man made his decision so quickly.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Cobblepot?"

“Weren't we just talking about our true natures? It’s my true nature to be greedy and impulsive, Jeremiah! I don't mean to upset you; but you’d have to expect I’d be looking at all the angles to figure out when I could eventually get free of a business deal that holds me back from reclaiming my rightful place!”

Oswald’s eyes were wet, but Jeremiah didn’t buy the tearful act. He wouldn’t be manipulated by someone’s emotions.

“As King of Gotham?” Jeremiah asked, quirking an eyebrow and holding his switchblade out millimeters from Oswald’s jugular. “Dear, dear Oswald. You’ve held that position so many times. Come now, do you really think I want to run the underworld? Too much trouble; too many people to keep track of. Didn’t you hear what I said? Generally I don’t like to to repeat myself but I will - this time - because I think you deserve another chance. I said, I’m not offering to put Gotham back under your control _at this point.”_  

Oswald stared at him. Jeremiah had indeed said that, how had he missed it?

“If you disappoint me,” the younger man sighed as he slid the now closed switchblade up his shirt cuff, “I’ll have to hurt you. But if you are as valuable an asset as I think you can be, you’ll earn a lot of money and then get turned loose to do whatever you please at the conclusion of our business. All I want is your help to map out the new boundaries of the city, make a few critical changes - which I’ll clue you in on as we go - and then you'll be free to take back your throne and play with your puppets while I busy myself with my next big project.” Operation _Breaking Bruce Wayne_ came to Jeremiah’s mind, but there was no need to clue Cobblepot in on that plan.

Oswald watched Jeremiah and visibly relaxed when the switchblade was out of sight. The pale man stood up and walked to the balcony.

“And here I thought were were getting along so well.”

“We were. Are.” Oswald was quick to interject, slowly levering himself back to his feet using the bench as support. “I can’t help being who I am, though. I'm a man who needs to be in charge. That’s just me.” Jeremiah turned back and contemplated the smaller man.

“You _will_ be in charge. Soon enough. Just play along and enjoy the money I’m offering you. I’ll stay a silent partner if you think that will make the most sense in the long run. We can talk about that after you bring me your first bit of intel. What do you say? Do you want to struggle for your next meal and maybe rise to the top of the underworld again in 2-3 years? Or do you want to live well and take direction from me, influencing the changes within the city until you actually _are_ in charge in 6-9 months? You know how to run Gotham better than I do - I’ll just be pulling the strings until I’ve accomplished my own goals.”

He turned away and murmured, “Really. Does an offer like that warrant you planning my murder already, little bird?”

“No. Of course not.” Oswald limped over to the balcony rail. “Tell me again, when is Martin coming home?”

Jeremiah huffed a sad laugh. “You were planning my death even though I have your ward under lock and key. How do you expect me to give him back to you? What leverage will that leave me once you have him home?”

Oswald chanced putting his hand over Jeremiah’s on the railing. The pale man looked down at their hands and then met the other man’s gaze.

“I think there’s something else here. I want to explore it, but I keep getting mixed signals from you. Sometimes you are the coldest person I’ve ever known, well, next to Theo Galavan, but that’s neither here nor there...sometimes you seem indifferent, sometimes you playfully tease me, and sometimes you look at me like you want to devour me. All in the same afternoon. I’m confused by the panoply. But if there’s some sort of personal stake in our working together, such a stake might interest me beyond the money...beyond getting Martin back.”

“A personal stake? You want me to establish a relationship with you as leverage? That seems an awful lot like emotional blackmail.” He slipped his hand out from under Oswald’s. “Look, I don’t have a problem blackmailing you further, Oswald. But I thought you had issues with not being in charge.”

Oswald was quiet for a few moments then swallowed uncomfortably. “It's not blackmail, not really. There’s something you mentioned yesterday that I’ve been giving a lot of thought. A _lot_ of thought.” Oswald was beet red now, but he pressed on staring over the balcony. “It...has an appeal that I can’t ignore...and it involves the one area of my life where I prefer to cede my control.”

Jeremiah hid his smile, knowing full well what Oswald was talking about, but electing to play dumb a little longer. This had to be the bird’s choice, not his.

“I can’t picture you giving up control to anyone, Oswald. You have far too much pride for that.”

“The book,” Oswald choked out. “You have the journal, don’t you?”

“The journal? Oh. Jerome’s journal. Yes. I...haven’t read the whole thing, of course. Just bits here and there trying to understand some of his plans for the major players in Gotham.”

Oswald looked up at Jeremiah, confused. “I thought you said you read about me and Jerome.”

“Yes, I did. Wait. Are you seriously suggesting...You and me? Like that?” He hoped he wasn’t overplaying his hand but, this was just too much fun.

Oswald bristled a little. “I thought that’s what _you_ had suggested. Throwing that ‘size queen’ comment out at me like so much bait. You were kidding? Wow, that’s just…even for you, that's...”

“No, no. I wasn’t kidding, but, look, not 20 minutes ago you were talking about killing me off and now you’re talking about the two of us sleeping together. I really thought you’d be repulsed by the idea. I mean, you had an affair with my brother and here I am trying to muscle in and get sloppy seconds. I wouldn’t be surprised if you slapped me for even considering…”

“Shut up.”

“...”

“Your brother and I had a...relationship of convenience. I’d hardly call it an affair," Oswald muttered, hating to reduce what he and Jerome had to such a simple explanation. But how could he explain it to a man that had no emotional quotient? "What’s the difference if you and I start something similar? We’d both get something out of it. That is, if you can handle a consensual relationship with someone who submits to your every whim in the bedroom.”

God, and didn’t that comment just send the blood rushing down to the pale man’s dick. Jeremiah had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep focus.

“Well, I’ve already seen you on your knees begging for your life with a knife to your throat,” Jeremiah eventually said quietly, leaning closer to Oswald. “As pretty as that was, having you in the same position while begging for my cock could be incredibly stimulating.”

“Is that a yes?” Oswald asked, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. He nearly vibrated with anticipation.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Sex is not my usual _modus operandi_. Kink is pretty low on my list of priorities, what with wanting to blow up buildings and bridges and all.” Jeremiah sighed dramatically. “But you do drive a hard bargain, Mr. Cobblepot. First you want $50M for my core relay and now you want me to dominate you so you don't lose interest in our business deal before I'm ready to crown you King of Gotham? What’s a simple man like me to do?”

“You’re teasing again,” Oswald commented, annoyed.

“Isn’t that part of a healthy Dom/sub relationship, little bird? I'm sensing that you’re a bit of a brat. If we do this I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

“I guess you’ll only find out if you agree, Mr. Valeska.” Oswald didn’t show it, but he was starting to feel a tiny bit victorious.

“Well. It’s certainly something I’ll need to sleep on.” Jeremiah put a possessive hand on the small of Oswald’s back and steered him toward the elevator. “Come on, let’s get you home. It’s getting late.”

If Oswald suspected he was being manipulated, he didn’t give any indication of it.

That suited Jeremiah just fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no word from Jeremiah in over 48 hours, Oswald's mind starts to dredge up memories of his relationship with Jeremiah's maniacal brother Jerome.

Two full days passed with no word from Jeremiah, and Oswald was growing sullen and impatient.

He sat on the couch nursing a cognac in the home that once belonged to Sofia Falcone, having officially claimed it for himself during the recent territory grab. He made a mental note to ask Jeremiah to help him get the Van Dahl estate back under his control next. Apparently someone in the drug trade had taken it over and Oswald hoped that didn’t mean desperate junkies would show up and wreck his father's once-stately home.

In Oswald's other hand was a month-old newspaper clipping of Jerome Valeska, his scarred, freckled face and flaming red hair captured for posterity. He did miss the lunatic; Jerome had been one of his last confidants and his most recent lover and Oswald felt like a piece was missing from his life without him.

Jerome was not a nice guy. In fact, he was often downright cruel to Oswald. But Oswald still felt special when he was with the crazy ginger. Initially they were like oil and water and Oswald completely resisted getting mixed up with him. But after he was able to make Jerome laugh in front of the crowd of Arkham inmates, things changed quickly between them. Jerome began treating him like an equal and discussed some of his plans for causing mayhem in Gotham, seeking advice from the older and more experienced crime boss.

***

The first time something _physical_ other than fisticuffs happened between them, Jerome had suggested Oswald take the cover off the vent that separated their cells and sneak over for a visit. It wouldn’t have worked in the reverse as Jerome was far too broad shouldered and muscular to get past that tiny crawl space. But Oswald had slipped right through and was rewarded with one of Jerome's Cheshire cat smiles.

That’s how their dance began.

_Once Oswald was on the other side of the vent, the two men stared at each other for awhile before Jerome rushed forward and grabbed Oswald by the neck. When he asked if it hurt, Oswald nodded and Jerome asked if he wanted him to let go. Oswald didn’t answer and Jerome’s smile grew wider. He crowded the smaller man up against the wall with one hand still wrapped around his throat._

_“Tell me to stop and I will.” Again, Oswald was silent._

_He’d known what could happen if he went to Jerome’s cell and he was ready for it. He was aching for contact and thought Jerome was one of the most exotically beautiful creatures he’d ever seen, in or out of Arkham. The scars didn’t even detract from his beauty, they only enhanced it._

_“Aw, is Ozzie-wozzie too scared to talk?”_

_“No,_ Jerome _,” Oswald rasped, throat still constricted under Jerome's grip. “I’m not. I’m most certainly not afraid of_ you _.”_

_“Oh! He speaks! Tell me then, Mr. Oswald," the redhead purred, "what can little ol’ me do for the big bad Penguin? Maybe you want a snack?” Jerome let go of Oswald and cupped his own package, the growing erection straining against too tight prison pants that usually hung looser on his lanky 6 foot frame._

_“Maybe,” Oswald agreed, licking his lips and sizing Jerome up. Literally. From what he could assess, that red headed terror was packing more than 7 inches and the boy wasn’t even fully hard yet. It made the Penguin's mouth water._

***

Oswald hadn’t been a virgin when he rose to power in Gotham, contrary to popular belief. He’d been broken in a long, long time ago. He just didn't normally give it away for free. You see, there had been plenty of men paying good money for access to a sweet young thing and - after he’d been running errands for the mob for about a year - Oswald did a stint as a rent boy. Oswald was able to trade his slight, pale body for cash before Fish Mooney broke his knee. There was only a short window of time that the young Mr. Cobblepot could pass for virginal and innocent and he capitalized on that look for nearly 2 years, amassing a nest egg he used later to buy smarter clothes and move up the food chain. _Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,_  Mother always said. 

And she was always worried about him getting tangled in some hussy's demon purse...If she'd only known _he_ was the hussy!

But for all his experience in his late teens as a sex worker, it was only after he’d recovered from Ed Nygma’s devastating gunshot wound at the ripe age of 31 that he discovered the concept of true sexual submission. Oswald wandered into a BDSM club he owned while Ed was ‘on ice’ and met a young man with the alias of Willem Q, a quiet blond that reminded him of Jim Gordon. Willem introduced Oswald to a whole new world where he found that he enjoyed purposely ceding his control over to a sexual partner - within set parameters. It had always thrilled Oswald the way Gordon would toy with him and even rough him up. It hadn't fully occurred to him that Jim’s roughness appealed to him sexually; he just knew he craved the handsome cop’s attention. Willem carefully helped Oswald navigate and specifically taught him how to articulate his needs properly to a dominant partner. Yes, Willem was a sex worker and Oswald paid him but he discovered so much about himself during that summer. Oswald realized he actually got off on a certain level of pain; that he sometimes liked to be restrained; that he wanted to be ordered around and appropriately punished if he disobeyed. 

These discoveries were all made within the context of pre-determined rules, definitive boundaries and active communication in a respectful Dom/sub relationship. Oswald had never paid attention to the various subcultures and ways of life that permeated the clubs he owned, and when he realized there was a whole structure to the kind of sex he enjoyed it made him feel _more_ in control to assign his control _away_ for a set period of time. This new identity was so compartmentalized and separate from his role as a leader of the underworld that it enabled him to leave his burdens at the proverbial door. Oswald could literally blank out his mind during a scene and not focus on anything other than his Dom. In Willem's case, it was purely a business transaction and Oswald felt no emotional attachment to him other than gratitude for his tutelage.

Once Sofia had come to town, Oswald became cautious and stopped frequenting the club. To fill the void, Oswald and Victor Zsasz would occasionally role play. Victor was a well-known Dom and noticed the subtle change in Oswald's demeanor one day which led to a long conversation over a bottle (or two) of wine. Once they discussed Oswald's parameters, Zsasz gave Oswald a safe, discreet outlet for his interests without fear of reprisal. But then the whole mess with Sofia and Carmine hit the fan and Oswald ended up in Arkham thanks to Victor’s overarching loyalty to the Falcone family. 

Jerome, now...Jerome knew nothing about boundaries, or permission, or being safe in any context. Jerome was danger incarnate. That element of danger is what initially drew Oswald to Jerome like a moth to a flame and he threw everything he’d learned out the window to have that first encounter with the ginger. Not long after though, he found his voice again and sat Jerome down and told him what he needed and what he preferred. The boy was surprisingly open to the conversation and willing to learn, agreeing to tone things down and regularly ask questions to make sure his 'Mr. Oswald' was happy. But that first time in Jerome’s cell, Oswald threw all caution aside. 

***

_“I’m so flattered, little bird. You’ve got the hots for me! So...let’s see, how should we do this? Oh, I know...”_

_He pushed Oswald to his knees, not at all mindful of the man’s bad leg, and shoved his own pants down just far enough to let his cock spring free._

_“Pretty little Cobblepot,” Jerome cooed. “Won’t you look lovely,” he took himself in hand and wiggled his cock in front of Oswald’s eyes, “with your purty lips stretched around this?”_

_With no hesitation, Oswald nodded and even arched his neck toward his prize as if it might be snatched away._

_“Oh my God, you really do want it!" And there was that crazy laugh, loud enough to wake the dead. "I...oh, wow." He quieted for a moment as if realizing he actually did have a willing partner in front of him. However, that willing partner was going to lose his patience if the boy didn't get busy. " I guess I hit the lottery with you, birdie,” Jerome growled in that gravely voice of his as he tapped the head of his cock against Oswald’s mouth, smearing pre-cum over his pink lips._

_Oswald leaned back and murmured, “Always a showman. Are you quite done waving that thing around so I can suck it properly or did you just want to air it out?” He rolled his eyes pointedly. "I'm not getting any younger here."_

_“Settle down there, sweet cheeks. I'm happy to oblige! Here you go, now gimme some sugar.”_

_Oh, and when the head of that luscious, nearly nine inch cock rested heavy on his tongue and Jerome tugged his hair hard enough for his eyes to water, Oswald remembered just how much he missed having a partner to play with._

He almost hated himself the next day for compromising some of his personal rules, like some of what happened during and after that blow job, but that first night bonded the two men in such a way that the ginger rarely strayed from Oswald's side thereafter and Oswald never had trouble from any other inmates.  Soon enough, he and Jerome weren’t just fuck buddies. Sometimes, Jerome just wanted Oswald to sleep in his bed with him. The redhead would hang onto the older man like he was his personal security blanket; between the heat pouring off him like a furnace (and  _wouldn't a resurrected guy be cold?_ Oswald often wondered) and the steady, draggy breathing resulting from Jerome's damaged carotid artery, Oswald easily fell asleep curled up in Jerome's arms.

Not that any of it meant anything. It was all in good fun. 

Until suddenly it _did_ mean something. 

Oswald wanted to kick himself for developing feelings for the ginger haired maniac. After Jerome broke out of Arkham, Oswald worried about him constantly. He could finally breathe when the boy and his 'friends' Crane and Tetch crashed with him at Sofia’s place. He and Jerome only slept together there a handful of times before the boy’s untimely demise, but laying tangled on Sofia’s silk sheets and being restrained against her fancy brass headboard were a far cry from playing grab ass in the rec room or fucking on that shitty metal cot in a noisy asylum.

When Jerome fell asleep in Sofia's bed, to Oswald he looked like a redheaded angel. Well, an angel with a permanently carved Glasgow smile and scars around the perimeter of his face and eye sockets. But during those rare moments of sleep, 'Mr. Oswald' would keep watch over his 'gingersnap' so his peaceful rest was undisturbed. 

They never spoke about feelings or exchanged whispered endearments in the heat of the moment. They'd never kissed on the mouth, only playfully on the cheek. But Oswald got to know Jerome well in those five months and he knew when those emerald green eyes alighted on him that they gleamed in a way they just _didn't_ the rest of the time. 

That was enough.

The contagious laugh, hard body and enormous dick were just bonuses.

***

Oswald’s reminiscing was interrupted by his cell phone trilling loudly in the quiet mansion. He didn’t recognize the number and didn’t usually get calls from people he didn’t know.

“Can I _help_ you?” he sneered, just in case it was a wrong number.

“Is this Mr. Cobblepot?” asked a young woman with a vaguely European accent.

“To whom am I speaking, please?” Oswald rolled his eyes. Really? What stranger would call him at...he looked at the mantle...almost 11PM?

“I am calling on Mr. Jeremiah Valeska’s behalf.”

He straightened at the mention of Jeremiah and put his drink on the table. “Oh. You must be the young lady I met on Tuesday.”

“Sir, Mr. Valeska has been unavoidably detained and apologizes for his delay in contacting you. If you would be so kind as to receive him at your home, he would be pleased to visit with you tomorrow. If that is inconvenient, please advise a more suitable time and place. The Stravinsky is quite off limits at the moment for your safety.”

“Is Jeremiah alright?” Oswald hurried to ask when the information wasn't readily put forth.

“Yes, sir.”

“Does he need my help?”  The line was silent for a moment. “Hello?” Still nothing. "Is there anything I..."

“Please hold a moment.”

He could make out low murmuring over _clicking_ like the sound of cartridges snapping into a magazine, tapping of metal on glass and distant thuds. Oswald strained to hear anything further, but the woman must have then covered the receiver while she held her conversation.

“Thank you for the considerate offer, Mr. Cobblepot. Mr. Valeska has the situation well in hand but is sincerely appreciative of your concern. Will the visit tomorrow suit your schedule?” She pronounced that last word as 'shed-u-al.' 

“Yes. Yes, Jeremiah is most welcome here. Will 3PM suffice?”

“I will advise him of the time and if there is any issue we will be back in touch. Otherwise, please expect him. Thank you, sir.” The line went dead.

That was a concerning phone call. Oswald was nosy enough to want to take a drive over to that part of town, but smart enough to realize that Jeremiah would have asked him to come if there was something he could do. Maybe some of Jerome’s leftover minions were giving him trouble. Surely Jeremiah could easily dispatch a few rowdy henchmen. But that woman said the whole of Stravinsky was off limits. There were no television networks on air and he doubted very much that the internet would shed light on such a localized issue. No one gave a damn about Gotham's chaos right now. So, he decided to trust and wait until he saw the man tomorrow.

Feeling much better having had contact from one of Jeremiah's people, Oswald took his glass and headed off bed leaving the clipping of Jerome forgotten on the coffee table.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald entertains Jeremiah at the Falcone mansion and eventually gets the answer to his proposal. But they both realize Jeremiah is going to be as challenging to Oswald as Oswald will be to him.

Jeremiah was not only punctual, he was 7 minutes early.

For his part, Penguin had been ready for hours and had taken to pacing the vestibule for the past 15 minutes. When Falcone’s stately chime signaled a guest on the doorstep, Oswald took a moment to straighten his tie, mechanically fiddle with his hair and then take a few deep breaths before opening the door. _Like a silly schoolboy._

Jeremiah had on sunglasses and that wide-brimmed wool fedora he’d worn the day Oswald first laid eyes on him. Barbara had ridiculed the hat, but Oswald thought it terribly sophisticated.

(Truth be told, as Jeremiah began descending the stairs at that initial confrontation, Oswald muttered something along the lines of “I’d tap that,” while Barbara cackled and Tabitha made retching noises. Butch/Grundy had merely sighed in his usual put-upon fashion.)

“Jeremiah,” Oswald greeted enthusiastically, “welcome to my humble abode.”

The pale man removed his shades and gave the Penguin a small, grateful smile. He looked tired. “Thank you for accommodating my request, Oswald. You may have heard that my own dwelling is in some disrepair. Contractors can be difficult to arrange quickly when the bridges and tunnels are, well, gone,” he chuckled.

“I’m very much interested in hearing all about it. Please, come in.” He stepped back into the foyer to let the man pass and Jeremiah swept his fedora off as he crossed the threshold. Oswald glanced out at the car noting Jeremiah’s driver sitting alertly as another man, obviously hired muscle, chatted to him through the open window, weapons quite visible.

Once Oswald had hung up Jeremiah’s plaid coat and placed the hat on a rack in the closet, the pair walked past one of Oswald's security men and into the den where Oswald had a fire going.

“This is very nice.” Jeremiah turned slowly to take in the warm tones of the room. “Though I imagine you’ll want to put your own stamp on it at some point?”

“Yes.The Falcone family always had good taste but I do have a few ideas to modernize it a bit. Please, sit. I’ll give you a full tour later if you like. Drink?”

“Scotch?”

“Macallan Rare Cask alright?”

“I’m a simple man, Oswald, really, Johnny Walker Red would have been fine.” Jeremiah chucked, “but I would never turn down a good single malt.” He belatedly tugged off his red and black leather gloves and set them atop one another on the end table at his elbow. His eye caught a glimpse of a newspaper clipping in the shadow of a bowl of flowers at the far end of the coffee table.

Oswald brought over the drinks as he joined him on the sofa.  Jeremiah hummed his approval after the first sip. “God, that’s smooth.” Oswald smirked, very pleased with himself.

“So. What on earth happened at the Stravinsky, if I may ask?”

“Minor scuffle.” Jeremiah waved a pale hand dismissively.

“Did it involve another rocket launcher by chance?”

Jeremiah turned slightly toward Oswald, cocking an eyebrow. “More than one rocket, actually. The place is a mess.”

Oswald had frankly been kidding about the RPG, and looked horrified at Jeremiah’s comment.

“So,” the white-faced Valeska brother crossed his legs and continued, “two days ago, I'm alerted to a disruption in the kitchen, of all places. It’s brought to my attention that there are a number of automatic rifles and hand grenades missing from the armory. The RPGs, some flamethrowers and other more cumbersome artillery are under lock and key so I knew those were safe but I was concerned about the missing guns and smoke bombs. By the way, I’d not been ready at this point in our business relationship to show you the armory - it’s on one of the floors we skipped during your visit."

Oswald listened with rapt attention. Jeremiah was a study in economy of motion; hands clasped in his lap, his utter stillness whether standing or sitting was as fascinating as his stories.

“It turns out, seven, if you can believe that - _seven!_ \- of my patrolmen are rebelling and holding hostages in the kitchen. They send their demands via text message to Ecco,”

“Ecco?”

“My Krav Maga expert. The young lady you saw?”

“Ah, yes. She’s the one who called last night.”

Jeremiah nodded and continued, “and their absurd demands include $2 million dollars and the complete surrender of the building. The nerve. They don’t have one leader among them. It’s all very juvenile and poorly planned, but it’s taken me by surprise as I was analyzing the floor plans of a nearby vacancy I wanted to obtain. I’m having to rethink that strategy and refocus on the warehouse district. How cliche.”

The pale man sighed after taking another sip of his drink. “I'm very put out by this nonsense and then it comes to light that the rebellion was owed to some thinly disguised jealousy over my meetings with an illustrious former kingpin on the way back to the top.”

“You’re kidding,”  Oswald said flatly, unnerved that he might have unwittingly been the catalyst for the situation.

“Ah, no worries. All will be revealed in time. You see, word has spread among the rank and file that I’m seeking an alliance with one of the most well-known mob bosses in Gotham - surely that must mean there is money and influence to spare. Why should that young upstart Jeremiah Valeska have all the rewards from a partnership with the Penguin? _This from seven nobodies who have done exactly jack shit for me!”_ he spat through gritted teeth.

Oswald thought his next words over carefully. This was only the second time he’d seen anger show on Jeremiah’s carefully crafted mask. Obviously betrayal was one of his hot buttons.

“In my experience, Jeremiah, something like this happens when one’s people are threatened.  Someone comes on the scene that seems brighter, stronger, more capable than they ever could be. There will be an instigator, a shit stirrer if you will, who perhaps thought they were in line to climb the ladder - get closer to the leader and become a valuable right-hand man. A capo. A few disgruntled ne’er-do-wells jump on the bandwagon. Sometimes, even a few quite _promising_ associates get caught up in the excitement which is always disappointing. All that can be done, really, is to make an example out of the worst and maybe salvage one or two of the best to secure their future loyalty.”

The younger man nodded. As quickly as the anger had shown on his face, he was already back to his placid, even demeanor.

Oswald added, “However, it is also important to note that you and I each were, at one time, the instigators ourselves. Interlopers. The difference is we got away with it by being canny and prepared.”

“Indeed. These seven did _not_ get away with it. What they didn’t realize is, generally speaking, hostages mean nothing to me. Neither the hostages nor my kitchen survived. Who stages a gun battle in a room full of steel counters and appliances? So illogical, bullets bouncing around and ricochets hitting their own people. Part of the 2nd and 4th floors were damaged as well; nothing catastrophic. But I _am_ sore about the kitchen. All that food gone to waste. Still, it was satisfying to lob those rockets into the fray just to fry the last bits of their traitorous corpses.”

“Well, the important thing is the example was made.” In a softer tone, Oswald added, “and you’re alright, I trust?”

A small smile graced Jeremiah’s lips. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine and I did appreciate your concern last night. I could have spared a couple of minutes sooner to call you though, I’m sorry about that.”

“I think a shootout is a good reason for a delay. In all fairness, you hadn’t expressly said you were calling me the very next day. Let’s not put undue pressure on ourselves.”

Jeremiah dipped his chin. “Nevertheless, the implication was there based on the sensitivity of the topic we wanted to discuss. I need to work on my delivery so I set expectations more realistically.”

Without even a pause to indicate a change in topic, he asked Oswald, “So, why is there a news clipping of my brother on the coffee table?”

If he could have face-palmed at his oversight, he would have.

“Mmm, I...I came across it in my desk yesterday and meant to discard it. It’s not a very well-written account of the breakout.”

“I see,” Jeremiah intoned slowly. “May I...have a look at it?” He held his hand out, palm up, and Oswald had no choice but to give it to him. The pale man glanced at the photo, then swiftly read the story below it with those unblinking eyes.

“Rather a large photo of him. I remember seeing that face up close and personal when he was in my maze. It was unsettling to see what was once a mirror image of my own turned into that network of scars. Shame, that,” he said emotionlessly. He handed the paper back to Oswald and it was clear the conversation was over when he stood up to stretch his legs. “I’ll have that tour now, if you will.”

“Of course!” Grateful that hiccup went as well as it had, Oswald very pointedly dropped the article into the wastebasket on their way out of the room.

***

Once Oswald gave Jeremiah a cursory tour of Sofia’s home, the two men sat down in the dining area to the rear of the den - the very place where the Legion of Horribles had their mandatory brunch meeting two and a half weeks ago.

“Please. Just assure me that you didn’t go through the trouble of making all of this yourself. I feel terribly guilty,” Jeremiah said, partaking of the offered smoked salmon crostini. Oswald didn’t think he looked like he felt guilty at all.

“No, no. This is all from Lombardi’s, an old mainstay in the area. Always good to have a reliable caterer on speed dial. Dinner will be delivered in about an hour.”

“Speaking of food, and this _is_ delicious,” Jeremiah dabbed at the corner of his lips with a cloth napkin, “with my kitchen out of commission I won’t be able to offer you that tuna steak you requested anytime soon.” He shrugged. “I’ll be subsisting on Chinese take-out and pizza with my remaining crew.” He noticed Oswald had flushed a little and was fixated on Jeremiah’s mouth.

“May I...ask you something personal, Jeremiah?” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow in response. Oswald gestured to the napkin. “Why is it that sometimes you wear lipstick and sometimes you don’t? I’ve often worn makeup myself so that’s not the reason for the question. It’s just that I thought your lips were already a rather saturated color.”

Jeremiah hesitated only briefly before answering. “Yes, the gas darkened my lips, but depending on the lighting and the clothing I'm wearing this new ‘normal’ isn’t always flattering. I’ve become somewhat vain since my...transformation. So, if I’m in the mood, I’ll play up the color a bit. Enhance it. The way I see it, if this,” he pointed at his face, “is the new me, I may as well enjoy it. I rather like the contrast between a bright red lip and my white skin, especially since I like to wear purple and black.”

“Yes,” Oswald said, _sotto voce_. “It is very appealing.”

“Well, then. I’ll keep that in mind.” Jeremiah reached for Oswald’s cloth napkin, pressing it fully against his lips. He handed it back to Oswald with a deliberate kiss print left behind, winking playfully.

Clearing his throat, Oswald took a folded paper from his inside pocket and passed it over to his guest.

“What is this, now?” He studied it a moment and then looked up approvingly at Penguin. “A map of the Narrows?” His lips pursed thoughtfully as he reviewed it more carefully.

“Well, since you already paid me a retainer I thought I’d get started. I got this from Victor Fries, street name is Mr. Fr…”

“Freeze, yes, I’m familiar. How did you get him to detail this for you? No matter, your methods are your own and not for me to question.”

“I reminded him of our old alliance. Some time ago he worked for me, and…” At Jeremiah’s amused look, he admitted, “Alright, I may have paid him a decent sum as well. It lays out the delineation between his and Firefly’s territories, as well as the current known warehouse occupancies, some of which are newcomers to the scene. This,” he tapped at the paper, now spread between them on the table, “is where Lee Thompkins has her stronghold and clinic. It’s still being defended by her people in hopes of her return. In the grand scheme, Narrows real estate isn’t valuable on its own but the district is home to a large lower middle class population whose loyalties can be secured given the right incentives. Not to mention, a lot of trafficking takes place there: drugs, gambling, and prostitution. The residents struggle to make ends meet.”

“This is good information, Oswald, especially the warehouse intel. That’s one piece I didn’t have yet. How much?”

“How much _what_?” Oswald asked, fingering his tie nervously.

“Come now, don’t be coy. I gave you a fee range for intel based on usefulness, degree of difficulty…” Jeremiah waved his pale hand in the air. “What do you believe this is worth?”

“Jeremiah, you just gave me...”

“I know what I gave you and I expressly said it did not cover future work.”

“It’s honestly not worth enough for additional payout.”

Jeremiah stood and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “is this the way to the front door?”

 _Shit._ Penguin shoved his chair back and tried to catch up with Jeremiah’s long legged stride.

But Jeremiah was already trotting down the cobblestone steps and walking briskly to his car. Oswald, standing on the steps, watched him say something quietly to the bodyguard, who opened the rear passenger-side door and watched over Jeremiah unlocking a strong box built into the back of the front passenger seat.

Oswald had feared the worst, first that he had insulted Jeremiah so much the man simply walked out on him and then, that he was retrieving some terrifying torture device to punish him. He didn’t expect Jeremiah’s more nonchalant stroll back to the house with a manila envelope in hand and a lit cigarette between his lips.

“Forgive me for the quick break. I thought while I was out here....” He inhaled deeply and exhaled the smoke through his nose. He sighed and said, “Oswald, I can see you are going to try my patience on occasion. Not that I’m not up for the challenge…” Jeremiah took another puff and then held the lit cigarette out to Oswald without giving it to him. Oswald stared at the bright lipstick smudge on the filter end, eyes darkening before meeting Jeremiah's gaze, leaned forward and placed his own lips over the red stain. Oswald took a deep drag and since he hadn’t had a cigarette since early morning, the buzz went right to his head.

Jeremiah took the cigarette back, casually smoking while he studied Oswald’s face with a predatory look. Oswald felt that ache in the pit of his stomach - the one that warned him of impending danger - and damned if he wasn’t getting rock hard because of it.

Jeremiah had a last drag, handed off the cigarette to Oswald and ascended the last two steps to speak directly in his ear.

“Finish it.” Before Oswald could answer, Jeremiah slapped the manila envelope against Penguin’s chest, leaving him scrambling to grab it before it could fall. “When you’re done,” he murmured, “come find me.” The pale man brushed past him, very deliberately rubbing shoulders with him, and disappeared into the house.

 _Shit. SHIT._ Oswald took one more drag, ground the ash end under his heel and scuffed the sole of his shoe on the cobblestones in order to ditch the spent butt in the bushes.

He hurried back to the den where Jeremiah was now sitting in one of the chairs directly in front of the fireplace. The pale man didn’t look up until Oswald was directly in front of him.

“What’s this?” Oswald asked, holding up the envelope - though he obviously had a good idea.

“I believe when we made our arrangement I specified what I would pay for intel. I do not expect nor do I want any freebies, Oswald. That’s not how I do business. There's $50K in there.”

Oswald nodded, putting the envelope in his jacket where the map had been earlier and taking the seat opposite Jeremiah.

“Now, we should get to the real reason I’m here, yes?”

Oswald’s stomach tightened further. “I trust you’ve had enough time to digest my proposal? I know you had a lot going on.”

“I had considered asking for more time, yes, with all that happened between then and now, but I realized my answer wouldn’t have changed. So, it’s best we just get to it, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re fond of dragging things out, aren’t you, Jeremiah. A flair for the dramatic?”

“Indeed. I think that’s why you and I are getting along so well. Nothing like a little suspense to get the blood going.” Oswald waited, holding Jeremiah’s gaze so he wouldn’t look weak, even though the anticipation was killing him. Why did he want this man so much?

“So, the answer is yes. Yes, we can move forward in a relationship such as you suggested. I know you will likely have some terms you’ll want to negotiate. That’s fine, but I too have a couple of...requests. Questions. Just to see where the...baseline is. First,” he leaned forward in his seat. “I’d like you to kneel in front of me for the rest of this conversation.”

Oswald was taken aback by the request; there was no expectation that they would be having sex now, so why ask him to kneel?

“I can see by the look on your face that you are concerned. You needn’t be. Just please do it.”

Well, at least he’d said please. Oswald got up and knelt between the man’s now spread knees.

Jeremiah put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him down a bit. “You can sit back on your heels, I’m not looking to strain your knee. It's important for me to know what my partner wants from me. So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions and you will answer them quickly, without giving a great deal of thought to your responses - I want gut answers, not what you think I want to hear.”

Oswald’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, before he blurted out, “Dinner will be here very soon, just as a reminder.”

“That’s fine, this won’t take long. So, if there were only three things you could have from this new relationship with me, what would they be?”

This wasn’t what Oswald expected at all. He supposed it was a way to get at some of the boundaries they needed to set, but not the way he’d ever gone about it before. The man was just so damn clinical.

“Just three...okay. Um…for you to...p...” he thought how he should phrase it in a non-offensive manner.

“You don’t need to use medical terms, Oswald. I know we are both the formal sort, but slang is sufficient for me to understand,” he chuckled. “We’re talking about sex, not world peace.” He held Oswald’s gaze.

“Fine. For you to fuck me,” he snapped, annoyed but willing to play along. “To suck your dick, and for you to...to... _hit_ me. Preferably not where the bruises will show. Not a confidence builder in our line of work.”

Jeremiah continued to watch him with those light eyes, facial expression completely unchanged. “And if you had to substitute one of those, what would you put in its place?” He watched as Oswald looked a little confused, and added, “I’m not saying any of those are off the table. I’m just looking for more information. You don’t have to decide which of them is being replaced, just add another item as...a backup, if you will.”

The man on his knees shifted uncomfortably, knowing what he wanted to say but not sure it was a good idea. This was Jeremiah Valeska, and he’d already killed a few thousand people in only two weeks.

“Today, Penguin.”

“Breath play.”

Jeremiah’s expression remained neutral. “That wasn’t difficult, now was it? Thank you. How do you feel about...restraints?”

"Just. Not metal handcuffs.”

“So, softer material. Would leather be alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding as well.

“What about lashing?”

“On occasion. No cats with metal tips.”

“Humiliation?”

“We’d need to discuss the...parameters. I’m not a fan of certain methods.”

“Fine. And when we embark upon this little journey, what do you plan to call me?”

With no hesitation, Oswald said, “As my Dom, that is up to you to decide.”

Nodding his approval, Jeremiah leaned closer and said, “My decision is...for _you_ to decide. Right now.”

 _Shit._ Oswald felt himself grow painfully hard at this little cat-and-mouse game. “Sir. I would call you Sir until you requested a different title, Sir.”

“That’s nice,” Jeremiah said, those bright red lips curving into a smile. He cupped Oswald’s cheeks in his hands just as the doorbell chimed.

“The, uh, caterer. Sir.” Oswald whispered.

“Mmm hmm. You can answer in a minute.” Jeremiah pressed his lips to Oswald’s and kissed him briefly but firmly. When he pulled back, he nodded; pleased to have smeared his lipstick across Oswald’s mouth. He ran his knuckles down the left side of Oswald's face. “Now, stand up.”

He lent a hand to Oswald as he got back to his feet and then said, “Lose the suit jacket.”

Oswald’s already flushed face heated further. “Jeremiah, please.”

“I want you to answer the door making it obvious just what we’ve been up to. Not ashamed, are you Oswald?”

“No, I…”

“No, what?”

“No, _Sir_.” The doorbell chimed again.

“Better get that, my little Penguin,” Jeremiah chuckled, sitting back and grinning with satisfaction at the outline of Oswald’s hard cock pressing against his dress slacks. “Wouldn’t want them to take our dinner back.”

Oswald left the room, embarrassed but unbelievably turned on.

When it was clear by the sounds from the kitchen that pans were being reheated and dishes moved about, Jeremiah appeared in the doorway. He'd touched up his lipstick, leaving some of it smudged to match what was left on Oswald's mouth. He'd removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie and leaned against the door frame, looking debauched and quite unashamed about his own visible arousal. He passively observed the dinner preparations, giving a red-faced Oswald a slow, lecherous wink when he knew the two caterers were watching. When Oswald was suitably distracted, he silently left to take his place at the dinner table with an amused smirk on his face.

He'd definitely worked up an appetite.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a transition chapter. The boys' nice evening is interrupted by a situation that Jeremiah needs to handle immediately; one that Oswald is uniquely qualified to assist with.

The caterers put the food in heated serving platters and set everything out on the dining table for Oswald, pointedly ignoring the weird pale dude who was ignoring them right back. He was back in his suit jacket, tie perfectly knotted as he scrolled through news on his mobile phone. 

The host showed them out and when he got back to the dining room, Jeremiah looked up innocently and gave him his undivided attention.

“I’ve a mind to dump that tray of eggplant rollatini directly into your lap,” Oswald pouted.

“Oswald!” Jeremiah laughed, “be a sport! You have to admit, it _was_ funny.”

“Really? Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it was to dash about the kitchen with...with _that_ in the way?”

“Yes. I can only imagine. Mmm, but you looked so appealing in your discomfort.” Jeremiah looked off in the distance, a little dreamily, and Oswald smacked him on the arm with his napkin.

“You’re impossible.” Penguin arranged the food with a look of mock outrage, trying hard to bite back his own laugh. Jeremiah watched him with a serene smile on his face.

“You didn’t wipe the lipstick smear off yet.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my honored guest,” Oswald snarked. “ _Sir.”_

Just as he was about to take his seat, Jeremiah laid his white hand on Oswald’s wrist. “Come here, Ozzie.” He pushed his chair back a bit and patted his lap. “Think the chair will hold our weight?” Oswald scoffed but let Jeremiah take his hand and direct him until he was sitting in his lap, straddling Jeremiah’s thighs.

Jeremiah wrapped his arms around Oswald’s waist and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Thank you for playing along earlier,” he whispered. “Wasn’t sure you would, knowing how headstrong you can be and with this being our first encounter.”

Before Oswald could speak, Jeremiah covered the man’s lips with his own and kissed him softly, a stark contrast to how sharply assertive the pale man had been in the den. He kept up  a steady pressure and gentle movement - no tongue - until Oswald’s shoulders relaxed and he willingly pressed closer to settle against Jeremiah’s chest.

“We okay?” the pale men asked. “Not too mad at me?” He brushed his nose along the shell of Oswald’s left ear and felt him shiver.

“Not mad at all, really,” Oswald murmured. He looked up to meet the other’s gaze. “Was that what you had in mind when you asked about humiliation?”

“Basically. In front of others, I can’t imagine doing much more than that. I’m not about to flog you nude in the middle of Gotham Square.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, unless you’d be into that. Some people do like an audience.”

It was Penguin’s turn to wink, which drew a pleased chuckle from the pale man.

“We’re fine, of course. You blasted rogue.” Penguin kissed his cheek.

“Well, let’s not have your catering go to waste. The food smells amazing.” Jeremiah laid his hands on Penguin’s shoulders and gave a light squeeze before smoothing his palms down the length of the man’s arms. Oswald smiled, appreciating this unexpected gentleness. After clambering off the man’s _(rock-hard thighs)_ chair he took his own seat while Jeremiah started serving.

“Just so we’re clear,” Oswald said, fork poised over his meal, “the entire scenario was worth it just to see you in the doorway whilst in your own state of déshabillé. Had we been properly focused, _that_ would have been the time for me to be perched on your lap. In hindsight, I think I was cheated.”

“Oswald, you shock me!” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow but he dissolved into giggles at Oswald’s deadpan expression. “Fair point. I simply _must_ do something about my timing.”

***

As they were finishing up with Italian cheesecake and espresso, Jeremiah became distracted by a series of text messages that were sent in quick succession. He and Oswald had been having a very pleasant conversation about the late Carmine Falcone and his early influence over Oswald when it became clear there was a problem that needed Jeremiah’s attention.

"Anything I can help with?"

Jeremiah nodded. “In this case, yes, I think I will want to enlist your assistance a little later.” His text responses were very short, and the only evidence of his growing agitation was a tiny twitch in his left cheek muscle.

He got on the phone, voice quiet but menacing as he addressed the other party. He finally held up a finger to Oswald and mouthed, “excuse me.” The pale man quickly stepped outside and Oswald followed just to the front door and waved his security to stay near to ensure there was no imminent danger to Jeremiah or his men.

“Well then, you know what I would have you do,” Oswald heard clearly as Jeremiah started walking back toward the house. “It was time to finish that business anyway. Then, bring them both to me. Tonight.” He glanced up at his host. “Oswald, do you mind if we handle the business here at your home? I think you may be interested and it would be more efficient.”

“Do I need to call a cleaner?”

“No. My people will take care of it.”

“Fine. I’m up for a little excitement.”

Jeremiah nodded and then into the phone ordered, “Bring them to Cobblepot's _now_. Put the asset in a separate vehicle.”

“Anything you care to share with the class?” Oswald smirked when they were back in the house.

“All I will say is that you’ll want your favorite tools handy. I leave that to your interpretation.”

Oswald walked out of the room with Jeremiah at his heels and opened the safe in his office. He’d already had his switchblade at the ready but didn’t usually wear a holstered gun around the house now that he had some decent security in his employ. He checked to be sure the weapons were loaded, put the holster on under his suit jacket and tucked another pistol at the small of his back. He held up another gun and looked questioningly at Jeremiah who shook his head. He already had his shoulder holster, ankle holster, and spring-action knife and gun up his sleeves.

“I’m always armed to the teeth, Oswald. Feels like I’m lugging an extra 20 pounds around.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you have an uncarpeted basement, by chance?”

“What self-respecting gangster doesn’t?” Oswald smiled broadly. As he and Jeremiah sat down again to finish up their interrupted dessert, Oswald called for one of his security people and advised them to be ready to escort some guests downstairs, “and do make their seating arrangements unpleasant while they wait for Mr. Valeska and I to join them.” 

Ecco texted Jeremiah as she pulled in, and he made sure he and Oswald no longer had any traces of lipstick visible.

He texted, _A man named Owen will lead you downstairs._ To Oswald, he smirked and said, “It’s showtime.” 

*******

As the house once belonged to Carmine Falcone, the basement was properly outfitted for any necessary... _interrogations_. Ecco brought up the rear as Owen led her and two handcuffed men in suits down the stairs. The men had already been roughed up, the younger with a black eye and a split lip and a noticeable list to the right. These were not the ‘patrols’ that Jeremiah and Ecco had recruited from Jerome's followers; these two men looked to be hired muscle.

After about 20 minutes of making the ‘guests’ wait, Oswald led Jeremiah down to the finished basement. There was a pool table (of course), a television, a couch with a floor lamp, and a couple of soft chairs. The men were in the less friendly back room, tied to two hardback wooden chairs. 

Jeremiah glanced at the flooring in concern, but Oswald beckoned him close to whisper, “False floor. Two layers of tarp between the floor and the cement foundation.” Nodding his approval, he moved into the back room as silent as the grave.

Ecco was the one to look up in acknowledgement, of course. After all these years, she’d be able to hear him scratch an itch five rooms away so attuned was she to his movements.

“Gentlemen. What a surprise to see you out and about this fine Saturday night!” Both men were startled, but the younger one seemed less concerned and immediately responded.

“Why you gotta set your guard gal on us like this, Boss? You can’t come and talk to us man-to-man?”

Jeremiah stepped closer and stood directly in front of the complainer. “Perhaps I would have, had there been actual _men_ to speak to.” He clasped his now-gloved hands in front of him and clucked his tongue in disappointment. “You had one job, Baxter. One very simple job - and you didn’t even have to do it alone. You had two partners to help. Why do I find out tonight that something untoward was happening on your watch?”

“Untow-what?”

Oswald held in a guffaw. Baxter certainly hadn’t been hired for his IQ.

“Where is Santos?” Jeremiah quietly asked of Ecco.

“In the other vehicle.”

“Why ain't he in here?” Baxter cut in. “How come the two white guys are in trouble but the Spanish guy is off the hook.”

“Excuse me,” Jeremiah said, backhanding Baxter across the face and sending blood and saliva flying. “I believe I’m the only _white_ guy here. You’d do well to remember that.”

Baxter said nothing, just spit some blood onto the floor and then stared angrily between Ecco and Jeremiah as if daring them to do more.

“Would you care to relay the events that precipitated your arrival here?”

“Precip…”

“Oh, just tell him what you did,” Oswald piped up from the right side of the room, annoyed with this cretin.

“Look, the kid wouldn’t eat his meal. He’s been told about this before. Can’t have him losing weight or gettin’ sick, right? So I just persuaded him a little harder than usual. Dansky here didn’t see no problem with it. Right, buddy? He even helped.” The man next to him merely let out a quiet whimper.

“Kid?” Oswald asked, fear and rage both coiling in his stomach as he started to understand what this was about. Or _who_.

Jeremiah held his hand up in Oswald’s direction to indicate he should stay back a little longer. “What method of persuasion? I’d like to hear it with my own ears. Maybe Ecco had it wrong. No television, maybe? Off to bed early? Hmm?”

There was silence for a good long while. Oswald shifted his weight, getting antsy and wanting to ask about a dozen questions.

Jeremiah snapped his arm down to release his knife and held up the blade so it gleamed in the overhead light. “Frank Baxter, you've worn out my patience.” He stepped up to Baxter’s chair and quickly sliced the blade down his cheek.

“Aghhh, for fuck’s sake! What the hell? He’s not hurt or nothin’!”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“Okay, okay! Christ, that’s gonna leave a scar, Mr. J!” He spit blood onto the floor again. “I shoved the fucking sandwich in his mouth and held his nose so he’d have to chew and swallow in order to breathe. Goddamn kid acts like he’s so fuckin' special for a mute freak!”

With a yell, Oswald charged at the man and only Ecco’s swift intervention stopped him from likely biting the man’s carotid artery open. She whispered something in his ear, and Oswald visibly relaxed but she did not feel she could yet release his arms from behind his back.

Baxter stared at the small, angry man, confused. “Who da fuck is this?”

“Baxter. This is Mr. Oswald Cobblepot, otherwise known as The Penguin. He is Martin’s guardian. Father, if you will. He’s not very happy to hear that you mistreated his boy.” Jeremiah glanced at Oswald, the look in his eye promising that if he just waited a little longer, he would get his revenge. He then nodded at Ecco and she let Oswald’s arms go.

"Penguin? Oh, shit."

“I’m not very happy to hear it either. I'm a man of my word and I gave my word to Mr. Cobblepot that no harm would come to little Martin.” The pale man continued talking as he snapped the knife back into its place. “Do you see the problem we face? You’ve made me go back on my word now, haven’t you?”

“No, I…” Baxter was just starting to realize he wasn’t getting reprimanded.

He was here to die.

“Listen. He wasn’t harmed. He’s...he’s fine. Just ask Dansky.” He turned to the man next to him. “C’mon, you prick, tell ‘em. Ain’t nothing wrong with the kid, right?”

Dansky looked up at Jeremiah and simply said, “Please, Mr. J. Do it quickly? I did what he said I did.”

Jeremiah turned to Ecco and nodded. She put a bullet between Dansky’s eyes.

“Now, Mr. Baxter.” Baxter, like all cowards, was blubbering like an idiot and no longer listening. “I would like to formally introduce you to Mr. Cobblepot. Oswald, please, show Mr. Baxter how his last moments will go.”

Giving Jeremiah a devious smile, Oswald took out his trusty switchblade. Baxter was a very noisy victim, screaming and gurgling and pleading for death long before Oswald was ready to give it to him. From the doorway, Jeremiah proudly observed Oswald in his element.

When Oswald was done with his...work and the clean-up was in progress, Jeremiah approached quietly and coaxed him from the room.

“Come, let’s get you washed up,” he spoke soothingly into Oswald’s ear as he steered him to the staircase. “Martin is waiting to see you and I trust you don’t want to concern him with all this blood and viscera, hmm?”

Oswald stopped him at the bottom of the stairs and then, with warm, bloody hands, tugged Jeremiah’s face down and kissed him. The pale man pulled him close, tasting copper on Oswald's lips and paying no heed to getting blood on his own suit. Oswald did look a treat with all that gore splashed on his face and clothing. Too bad the mute boy was waiting outside in the van or he and Oswald could have spent the last of this adrenaline rush rutting against each other. Right. Here. 

But the Martin situation was far more pressing and needed to be resolved tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald and Martin are reunited and Jeremiah shows himself to be far more compatible with Oswald than was originally expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in bold italics are Martin's written comments on his note pad. Regular italics are the character's inner thoughts.

After their embrace at the foot of the stairs, Jeremiah took charge of the situation with Penguin. He managed to bring him upstairs and into his ensuite bathroom while giving Ecco orders to get Santos and Martin inside and settled to await Oswald’s appearance.

“The boy is asleep,” she relayed over the phone.

“Not surprising. It’s getting late.” He snapped the phone shut and sat Oswald on the toilet seat lid. “I need you to focus right now, Oswald. I know you’re still a little strung-out, but that eight year old boy will be in your living room in a few minutes looking forward to seeing you.” Jeremiah took off his jacket and gloves and quickly washed his own hands. “Do you think you can help me get you ready?”

Oswald nodded. “Good, good. I want you to take off your jacket, shirt and tie. It’s late so I don’t think you need to remain in a suit. I’ll be right back.” He opened the heavy mahogany wardrobe in Oswald’s bedroom, and flicked through the hangers to select a shirt and tie that would go with the pants Oswald was wearing. He didn’t think they’d gotten too mangled in the basement incident; they were black and could probably pass with a quick wipe down.

When Jeremiah returned to the bathroom, Oswald had done as asked and was staring at his bloodied reflection in the mirror in his undershirt, slacks and suspenders, his clothes folded on the hamper cover with his holster on top. Jeremiah took him by the shoulders and guided him back to the toilet lid. He wet a clean washcloth from the linen closet and started to gently wipe the blood and tissue bits from Oswald’s face until his skin glowed a healthy pink color.

“I suspect you use something special for that pretty complexion, pet,” he murmured, “so it’s best that I forego the use of soap, hmm?” The smaller man favored Jeremiah with a tiny smile.

“Pet?”

Jeremiah let out a breath, grateful that Oswald seemed to be coming back to himself. “Yes. Do...do you mind that?”

Oswald shook his head. “I like it.”

After he had gotten the blood off both Oswald’s face and his own, Jeremiah knelt down and used the washcloth to wipe down Oswald’s slacks and the tops of his oxfords. When he looked up. Oswald was watching him intently, evidently surprised to see the man on his knees in front of him.

“You’re almost ready. Please wash your hands and put these clean things on.” He gestured to the shirt and tie on the door hook.

“I still have to fix my hair,” Oswald said, as if skipping such a step was tantamount to heresy.

“Of course. But Martin is asleep right now. He’s not going to care if your hair is as exotically coiffed as usual; just make sure there aren’t any traces of Mr. Baxter’s entrails in it, okay?” He smirked as he left Oswald to it, heading into the bedroom to make sure he looked presentable himself. His jacket wasn’t a total loss; he could get that cleaned. He flipped it lining-side-out and laid it over his left arm while he waited.

Oswald appeared a few minutes later looking quite good - one would never be able to tell that he and his switchblade had been knuckle deep in some hoodlum’s abdomen 30 minutes ago. His hairstyle was freshened up, his white pinstriped shirt crisp and burgundy tie perfectly knotted.

“Ready?”

“Indeed. Is he really here?”

Jeremiah refused to be further snared by those puppy dog eyes and the open vulnerability on Oswald’s face. _Good grief._

“Yes, yes, have I lied to you yet? Come now, before he turns into a pumpkin.”

Jeremiah urged him out of the room, hand splayed possessively on the small of Oswald’s back until they got to the den. Then he stepped away and stood near Ecco by the fireplace to oversee the proceedings.

A tan complexioned man was sitting on the sofa, Martin fast asleep in his arms.

“Martin,” Oswald breathed in awe, as if he didn’t believe the boy would even be alive much less here in his home. He stepped closer and then halted. “And who might _you_ be?”

“I...um…” the man looked concerned and glanced at Ecco. She nodded. “My name is Miguel Santos. Mig Santos. I have been spending time with Martin this week.”

“I see. And are you more qualified to care for a child than the two buffoons I met earlier?” Martin stirred at Oswald’s voice and blinked bleary-eyed toward the sound. His eyes went round like saucers and he scrambled out of Santos’s lap, hurling himself at the Penguin.

“Martin,” he cooed. “It’s okay. You’re back home, my boy.” The youngster held tightly to Oswald’s waist and Oswald put an arm around him and stroked the boy’s unruly curls.

“You may tell Mr. Cobblepot your occupation, Mr. Santos,” Jeremiah interjected smoothly.

“I’m a schoolteacher. Miss Ecco thought it might be helpful if Martin had an educator present to read or play games with him during his time away. He is such a delightful and smart boy, it was no hardship at all. Since the bridges went out, school has been closed so this gave me something to do,” he shrugged. “When I saw what was happening during dinner tonight, I had to call Miss Ecco. Martin just wasn’t very hungry and some people get, er, frustrated, when he doesn’t respond verbally."

Penguin nodded, considering the man’s words. “I’m grateful that you spoke up. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Mr. Peng…” Santos flinched, “I mean, Mr. Cobblepot, sir.”

Jeremiah thought this was a good time to break up the little party. “Ecco, will you and Mr. Santos step outside? I will join you in a minute.”

When he was alone with Penguin and Martin, he said, “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. Oh, Martin?” At his name, the boy turned and looked up at the white-faced man. He showed no fear or surprise at his unusual look. “I’m very glad that you are back home with your...Poppa.” He glanced at Oswald who flushed adorably. “Mr. Cobblepot, we can reconnect at a later time.”

“Martin, dear, head off to bed and I’ll be right there to tuck you in.” The young man nodded and turned to go, but turned back and held his hand out for Jeremiah to shake. The pale man looked uncomfortable, but recovered quickly and formally shook the boy’s tiny hand before Martin ran off to his room.

“Such a little gentleman. A chip off the old Penguin,” Jeremiah said thoughtfully.

“Jeremiah. I want to thank you.”

“My fault that any of this happened, Oswald, don’t thank me.” He shook his head regretfully.

“You swiftly resolved a difficult situation. You gave me back my boy unharmed just as you promised. Regardless of how we got here originally, I am grateful for what you’ve done to make up for it.”

Knowing Oswald was not one to easily forgive transgressions against his family, Jeremiah didn’t argue.

“Go spend time with your boy. Call me whenever you’re ready.”

Oswald nodded. “I will.”

As he started to walk Jeremiah out, it felt like they’d turned a corner, but not solely because Martin was back. With his mind finally clearing, he realized how Jeremiah had taken charge and patiently looked after him when he had been so out of it. If he hadn’t snapped out of that fugue state, Jeremiah might have even had to dress him. In fact, he absolutely would have done so.

His heart clenched at the normalcy of it. It wasn’t something they’d talked about, they just fell into their respective roles. Naturally. Oswald couldn’t leave it unacknowledged.

“Wait.” He didn’t know what words would be appropriate, so instead he did what he did best - he let his emotions convey what he needed to say. He wrapped his arms around Jeremiah’s waist and laid his head on his chest, much like Martin had done with himself.

Jeremiah stiffened, caught completely off guard. With his suit jacket still over his arm, he couldn’t quite hug Oswald back, but he awkwardly put that arm around the man’s shoulders and after a moment tentatively raised his free hand to pet at Oswald’s hair. Soon, his fingers were combing through the dark locks and he rested his cheek against Oswald’s head.

“You’d _better_ call me after forcing me to endure all this infernal hugging, Cobblepot. I have a reputation to maintain,” he grumbled goodnaturedly.

“Pshh,” Oswald hissed into Jeremiah’s shirt. “You’re starting to like it.”

“Hmph, that’s beside the point.” He kissed Oswald’s forehead. “Go tuck him in before he falls asleep again,” he whispered, “and...call any time, day or night, alright?”

Oswald stepped back with lowered eyes and a  shy nod and handed Jeremiah his plaid coat, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Once outside, Jeremiah approached the van where Santos was waiting.

“Mr. Santos, you did a brave thing. Not many in your position would have gone against the boy’s security detail and made the call. This is for your trouble today.”

Jeremiah took $1000 out of his wallet, folding the wad of bills in half and tucking them into Santos’s shirt pocket. “I won’t forget what you did.”

“Thank you, Mr. J. But… will Baxter or Dansky be coming after me or my family? Baxter is the one I’m most worried about.” The man’s voice trembled.

“No. No, I can guarantee that you’ll not be hearing from _either_ of them. But if you are interested in more work, I suspect Mr. Cobblepot might want to talk to you about helping out with Martin on occasion. Would that be amenable?”

Santos seemed surprised. “Sure. He’s a great kid. I can’t say that would be a difficult assignment.”

Jeremiah nodded and turned away signaling the end of the conversation. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Santos,” he called over his shoulder. He acknowledged Ecco before being ushered into the open door of his own car.

Only after he was nearly back to the Stravinsky did he realize that Oswald had had him so flustered in the vestibule, he’d forgotten his hat. He quietly laughed to himself, amused at how easily Oswald could distract him.

***

Sitting on Martin’s bed, Oswald felt a variety of emotions: relief, pride, love, and peace. The boy had indeed dozed off while waiting for him, so he just watched him breathe.

After about 10 minutes, he shifted his weight to get up and Martin opened his eyes and smiled drowsily. He pointed to his pad and pen, and Oswald handed it over, curious.

**_Did you miss me?_ **

Oswald snorted. “What kind of question is that? Of course I did! I was initially very worried but after I saw you on the video, I was comforted somewhat.”

**_Did they hold me for ransom? How much did you pay?_ **

“You rascal! I’d have paid just about anything for your safe return, my boy. But...no. No ransom. It was more to, uh, get my attention.”

**_??_ **

“For a business proposal. Very strange. As brilliant as the man is, he’s young and inexperienced in social situations. A simple meeting would have been appropriate and yet, he was quite right that I’d have rejected his proposition out of hand,” Oswald murmured, almost to himself. “He’ll need some finesse with his negotiating skills.”

**_The man with the white face? Mr. J?_ **

“Mmm hmm. We can talk more about it tomorrow. Right now you need to get to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll make French toast for you. Deal?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically and let Oswald tuck the covers in around him. Oswald returned the notepad and pen to the nightstand, kissed Martin’s forehead and shut the light and the door on his way out.

As he got ready for bed himself, Oswald came across the bundle of bloody clothes on the hamper where he’d left them earlier. It reminded him again of how efficiently Jeremiah cleaned him up so he’d be able to greet Martin; yet underneath that efficiency was a gentle manner that seemed, again, so contrary to how Jeremiah usually portrayed himself. Oswald was as drawn to that tenderness as he was to the pale man’s dominance.

He shivered as he rubbed the bloody cotton shirt between his fingers. For the first time, he let himself imagine what might have transpired if Martin had not been waiting; what he and Jeremiah could have gotten up to after the foreplay of that little bloodbath downstairs.

Once in bed, he indulged in his fantasy. For the first time since finding himself tied up in Jeremiah’s office five days ago, he allowed himself to masturbate thinking about the pale man. He fondled his already hard shaft, remembering copper-flavored kisses and being held against a warm, broad chest at the foot of the stairs. Oswald then thought back to Jeremiah leaning against the kitchen door frame with that impressive bulge between his legs and he groaned aloud. It took no time at all to bring himself off with a loud gasp imagining being fucked hard and fast by that monster cock while shoved up against the basement wall. Or hoisted up on the pool table. Or...

Oswald murmured Jeremiah’s name as he stroked himself through the after-tremors, and after a cursory wipe up promptly passed out from sheer emotional exhaustion.

His last conscious thought was a growing desire to uncover all that chalk white flesh underneath Jeremiah’s exquisitely tailored suit; savoring each new bit exposed not unlike unwrapping a particularly beautiful Christmas gift.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald has a nosy little Martin interrogating him over breakfast. An unexpected visitor shows up at the Falcone mansion a few days later, and Oswald finally sees Jeremiah again later that same day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in bold italics are Martin's written comments on his note pad. Regular italics are the character's inner thoughts.

Staring at Oswald over his breakfast, Martin’s look of utter curiosity was near to bursting.

“Oh, what _is_ it?” Oswald grumbled.  Much too eager for this early in the morning, Martin grabbed his notepad and scribbled down his thought.

**_You were going to tell me about Mr. J. Why he took me._ **

Oswald groaned and fiddled with his cufflinks. “Was I? I don’t remember.”

**_Yes, you said it right before you promised me French Toast._ **

“Hmm. Must you take everything so literally, Martin?”

The boy looked confused for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. He started to write but then scribbled it out, his brow furrowed as he changed his question. Last night, Oswald had said the white faced man had kidnapped him to get Oswald’s attention for a business proposal. But that didn’t sound right.

**_~~What if there was~~   _ _Maybe he just wanted you to talk to him? I think he_ _likes_ _you_. **

“Oh for the love of Pete,” Oswald started, and Martin held up a finger before mouthing, **_W_ _ho’s Pete?_  **

“It’s just a figure of speech. Why on earth would you say that he likes me? You’ve been home less than 10 hours, and barely awake for 1 of them!”

**_Saw how he looked at you._ **

“The man doesn’t even blink! How can you read anything on his face? Finish your breakfast.”

Martin smirked but dutifully shoveled the last of his French toast in his mouth, being sure to soak up all the syrupy goodness in those last few bites. Oswald stared into his tea cup, wondering how this was his life that an eight-year old boy was making observations about his love life. _Had they been that obvious last night during the short time Martin was awake?_

Martin wiped his mouth with a napkin, watching Oswald’s expression turn gloomy. He wrote on his pad and tapped the table, wearing a contrite expression.

**_You stood really close together. I peeked from the hallway._ **

“You are a precocious, incorrigible... _adorable_ brat. I missed you - even your crafty observation skills. Next time I send you to bed, I do not want you spying on me! What if I had been doing business and something unpleasant happened? I try to protect you from seeing some of the worst of my dealings, you know.”

Martin nodded and mouthed, _**S** **orry** _.

“Yes, I know. You were just being nosy. And I suppose after being ‘detained’ as it were, for a week…”

Martin held up his hand, fingers spread.

“Fine, five days, you were entitled to get a little further explanation to what caused the situation. It’s...complicated, alright? He’s a bit of an odd fellow and…” he sighed as he watched Martin write again.

**_He’s the man who blew up the bridges. You said he was insane._ **

“I did, didn’t I? No, he’s not insane, exactly. I don’t know how to describe him right now. But we did come to a business arrangement and that was the reason he had you brought back. Well, that and the mistreatment you received from one of those idiots watching you.”

**_Just business?_ **

“Why are you so interested in this?”

**_Want you to be happy. If he was happy too maybe he wouldn’t blow things up._ **

Oswald laughed long and loud at that, almost knocking over his tea cup. “My dear innocent boy, I think it’s going to take a lot more than him _liking me_ to stop Jeremiah from blowing things up!”

Martin’s brow creased and Oswald realized the boy didn’t know the man’s real name. “Yes, his given name is Jeremiah. It’s...a long name for you, so we’ll stick with Mr. J. I might forget though. Now put your dishes away, go wash up, and we’ll go for a ride. We both need a little fresh air, yes? Pick out which coat you want to wear and don’t forget your gloves. It’s cold.”

Martin jumped up before “go for a ride” was completely out of Oswald’s mouth, whisked his dishes into the washer and flew through the house to his room.

“Don’t _run_ , you scamp!” Oswald sat there shaking his head, wondering how he was so lucky to have this precious boy in his life. He refused to credit Sofia for it; he and Martin built this relationship on their own and had she had her way, it would have been a twisted, ugly thing meant to destroy rather than support.

He put his tea cup and saucer in the sink (yes, he was feeling lazy) and walked off to arm himself and let his chauffeur know they would need a ride to the park.

***

Life returned to a sense of normalcy for the Cobblepot men; Martin worked with his regular tutor during the day while Oswald saw to his business, grappling with local thugs to take bits and pieces of his old territory back. In between, he kept his ear to the ground to get any intel he could for Jeremiah. He would hate to go back to the man empty handed the next time he was called upon for information.

Neither he nor Jeremiah called each other over the first five days that Martin was back home. Jeremiah wanted to let Oswald and Martin have a week to re-acclimate.

Oswald, on the other hand, was trying to figure out the best tactic for dealing with the unpredictable Valeska. Just call to say hello? _Hey, Jeremiah! How goes the bomb making business? Mass murder any of your own men this week?_ Call only when he had some information to give the man? Call at 2 in the morning when he... _no_ , probably not - especially with Martin just down the hall.

He was a little overwhelmed at the thought that Martin observed more than expected - not that it was more than just standing close and speaking quietly, but clearly he and Jeremiah were giving off _some_ kind of vibe long before they had their hug near the front door.

That boy was too perceptive.

***

In the end, Bruce Wayne was the one who forced Oswald’s hand to call Jeremiah. The billionaire showed up on Penguin’s doorstep on the sixth morning with a scowl that seemed like it was becoming the go-to expression on the young man’s face.

Wayne was dressed all in black as usual, with a long coat that flapped in the wind. It was almost as full as a cape and Oswald had to hold back a titter.

“Mr. Wayne! How nice to see you. Something I can do for you?” Penguin stood in the doorway blocking Bruce’s path and made no move to invite him in.

“You’re my last resort, Mr. Cobblepot.” Bruce looked so serious, and Oswald had a sense that he was about to be put on the spot. So he waited for the boy to get to the point. “May I come in?”

“I’m sorry, it’s really not a good time. I was just about to leave for an appointment,” he lied through his teeth. The security man behind Penguin listened carefully, ready to come to his aid if necessary.

“I see. Fine. I’m looking for Jeremiah Valeska.” When Penguin looked confused, Bruce snarked, “You know, over 6 foot tall, white face, acid green eyes? Can’t miss him, really.”

“No need for sarcasm, Bruce Wayne. Attitude will not get you far with me. Why would you think I’d have any information on that bridge blowing lunatic anyway? Does that seem like my modus operandi?”

“I don’t know. Everyone in Gotham is making new alliances. But someone knows where he is. Man with an ego that size doesn’t just disappear in the wind and he’s got too many followers to have just left town. But no one is talking.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. Have you tried the Sirens?” He paused for dramatic effect before laughing. “Oh wait, they kill men on sight. Never mind.”

“If you hear from him,” Bruce continued, not even acknowledging Penguin’s joke, “you tell him I’m still looking for him and I’m _not_ going away. He’s got a lot to answer for.”

Oswald was surprised at the venom in the boy’s voice and the rage in his eyes.

“I will deliver the message should I ever run into him during my dealings, Mr. Wayne,” he replied calmly.

Bruce gave a curt nod and left on foot, moving swiftly and surely - so much more mature than even a month ago when the bridges were destroyed in front of them all. Penguin was glad he wasn’t a more traditional business man. _The young Wayne would certainly make a formidable opponent in the boardroom someday._

He headed to his office straightaway and called Jeremiah, who picked up on the first ring - not at all concerned that he looked eager. He was.

“Oswald,” he greeted, and Penguin could _hear_ the smile in his voice.

“Jeremiah. I’m sorry for taking so long to call.”

“Nonsense,” Jeremiah laughed. “I’m honestly just glad to hear from you. I’d hoped that you hadn’t reassessed our partnership now that your son is back and getting his fair share of your attention.”

“Not at all. Still plenty of attention left for you, my friend. In fact, my plan was to call you tonight after dinner. However, something odd just happened and I thought it best to alert you immediately.”

“Oh?”

“Bruce Wayne was just here. He was very, er, forceful in demanding to know where you were. I, of course, acted as though I knew nothing of your whereabouts; frankly, as though I was not in contact with you at all.”

“Forceful as in a verbal demand or forceful as in physical?” Jeremiah asked with concern.

“Oh, no, no. Just verbal. Boy was all puffed up and looking grim, but no, there was no altercation. But he had a message he wanted passed on.”

“Of course he did. He’s looking for me, isn’t he? He’s been looking for me since the night of the bridges; the night his little girlfriend was injured,” he sighed, melodramatically. “I suspect he plans to beat me to a pulp. Like his butler did.”

This was the first Oswald had heard about Wayne having a girlfriend. And come to think of it, he _had_ wondered why Jeremiah was all bruised up the night of the shootout. “Oh, wait, do you mean Selina Kyle? I knew he and Cat were friends but...why did you shoot her?"

“Hmm, yes. _Cat_. Long story. She’s not dead, though I believe she may have a little difficulty walking,” he cackled, “what with a severed spinal cord.”

The tone of Jeremiah’s voice was terrifying, raising goosebumps along Oswald’s arms. “Remind me never to get on your bad side again,” he murmured. “Do you need any help throwing Wayne off your trail?”

“No. Diversions are being planted as we speak to keep him busy. I want him to get angry enough that he drops his self-righteous act and stops suppressing his true nature. But I’m not terribly concerned about him right now. He’s young and has a long way to go before he’ll be what Ra’s Al Ghul envisioned. I’ve done my part for now.”

Oswald swallowed audibly. “So your interest in Wayne isn’t, er, carnal…”

“Oh goodness, no! Oswald, he’s a child. I’m interested in _men_ , not boys. Well, one man in particular who has been noticeably absent from my presence for far too many days. So, when, pray tell, can I have the pleasure of your company again?”

 _How about in an hour?_ Penguin wanted to blurt out. But his reason won out over his impulse. “Perhaps we could meet for dinner tonight? What’s your schedule like?”

“Nothing that can’t keep. Mine or yours? If mine, we’ll have to order out - my kitchen is not quite ready for prime time.”

“Yours. I’m not quite ready to have date night here.” Left unspoken was _in front of the child._

“Fair play. I’ll see you, say around 3?”

***

When something physical finally did happen between he and Jeremiah, it was better than Oswald expected, nothing like what he anticipated, and also _not nearly enough_.

“Let me see the damage.” Oswald gestured to Jeremiah’s right shoulder.

They had been talking in Jeremiah’s living quarters, casually dressed. Casual for them simply meant they shed their suit jackets and shoes while sitting on the sofa. The sound of a minor scuffle between inconsequential hoodlums brought both of them over to the desk/office area to look out the window at the disturbance in the streets below.

“Why bother, you barely grazed me,” the younger man scoffed, turning away from the dismal, gray Gotham sky.

“Just curious.” Lifting his eyebrow, looking at Jeremiah with a challenge in his eyes, Penguin waited patiently to be given permission.

Jeremiah met his gaze and dramatically rolled his eyes. Without moving from the light of the window, he unbuttoned his vest and removed it along with his shoulder holster. Penguin took the items with slightly shaky hands and laid them on a wooden credenza a few steps away. When he turned back, Jeremiah was observing him thoughtfully.

“What? Do you want me to work for it?” Oswald asked, humor coloring his voice.

“No,” the pale man huffed. “Just...looking.”

“Oh. You like to watch, then?” Oswald teased.

Jeremiah smirked. “I like a lot of things, Oswald. We haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”  He removed the cufflink from the bright white cuff on his lavender dress shirt and placed it in Oswald’s waiting palm, before unbuttoning the shirt and sliding the right sleeve down his arm - exposing a bandaged injury just below his collarbone.

Oswald’s mouth went dry at the newly revealed expanse of smooth, white skin that almost matched the gauze.

“I have to credit you on your aim,” Jeremiah said, shaking Oswald out of his thoughts. “You’re quite good. From the position I was in, for you to have given me a through-and-through in this location is just remarkable.”

“Yes, well. I wasn’t trying to kill you after all. I’m pretty handy with a gun.”

“Obviously. Considering the weapon of choice, I imagine killing me would have been easier,” Jeremiah shrugged as Oswald brushed his fingers along the tape.

“I was careful to only squeeze off one round. May I?” The other man said nothing.

Oswald gently lifted the adhesive.

“You know, I do have someone that cleans and bandages it...but you’re going to look at it anyway, aren’t you?” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. Oswald glanced at Jeremiah’s face and smiled to himself when he saw the man roll his eyes again before closing them.

‘’Nicely done,” Oswald said, peeking under the bandage. The wound was clean, had been neatly stitched and was well cared-for. Scarring would be minimal and only about two inches long. “A little larger around the back?” he asked.

“Yes. Exit wound about an inch wider. I’ll remind you that the damage to my suit jacket was worse,” he groused and Oswald chuckled.

“I can see you didn’t go to a chop shop. Someone on your payroll patch you up?” Jeremiah nodded with his eyes still closed, enjoying Penguin’s breath warming the thin skin of his clavicle. “Are you...healing faster than normal due to the effects of the gas? Because I don’t remember my own bullet wounds looking this clean this fast.”

Jeremiah nodded again. “I think that might be the case. Not that I’d ever been shot before, but it does seem to be healing rather quickly compared to other injuries I’ve had and what I would have expected. It also didn’t hurt that much when the bullet penetrated my shoulder. I was thrown back by the velocity and surprise, and it stung - but no excruciating pain. Got the stitches out last Sunday and I was quite pleased at how well the edges had fused.”

“Fascinating.” Touching the area around the wound lightly, Oswald said, “You know, the scar won’t be bad at all once the redness fades.”

“Nothing wrong with a few more scars to add to the collection. You know, this whole thing...with us…” Jeremiah let out a deep breath, gesturing between them, “started all because you had the balls to shoot me.”

“Is that right,” Oswald smirked, helping Jeremiah get his arm back in the sleeve. “So your little kidnapping of me really _was_ because I shot you. Do you remember how snide and cruel you were when you brought me here? Had all of it originally been about me paying for it?”

“I do remember how I treated you. I’d change quite a few things I did if I could. All the intel I had on you convinced me that I needed to be vicious and unyielding to get you to cooperate. I had no idea I would truly enjoy your company and I’m sorry I hadn’t handled it differently, Oswald.” Even though Jeremiah’s eyes still held the odd, unblinking gaze, his features were softer. He looked contrite; embarrassed, even.

“Well, in retrospect I don’t know if I would have given you the time of day, no matter how attractive I found you. Being _forced_ to spend time with you actually gave me a peek behind the curtain, if you will.” He started to button Jeremiah’s shirt. “But I am curious...putting a bullet in your shoulder did what? Turned you on?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Not exactly! But after I found out _why_ you shot me, it made me see you as more than just a pretty face in a fancy suit. Stopping me from killing Galavan so you could mete out your own distinct punishment was very chilling. Well done,” he winked at Oswald’s proud nod. “Yet, you could have dispatched me with a spray of automatic gunfire and chose to let me live for some reason. That’s when I understood you were a man unafraid to play the long game. That coupled with what I’d read in my brother’s journal about your more submissive side...that _contrast_ turned me on.”

“Hmm.” Oswald let the words sink in. "Oh, and I let you _live_ because you were apparently our very own version of the Mad Bomber. Who knew what else you had planned? If I killed you, there was a chance we’d never know where more explosives were hidden.”

“So, you didn’t think you’d come to regret leaving a loose cannon like me running around the city?”

“You’re not a loose cannon. You’re a very meticulous, tightly-wound cannon.” Oswald threaded the cufflink back into Jeremiah’s shirtsleeve. “There you are. Back together.”

“Why on earth did I let you put my shirt _back_ _on_?” Jeremiah grumbled. “This was another perfect opportunity and once again my timing is off.”

“It’s not too late you know.” Jeremiah cocked an eyebrow at him as Oswald leaned up on his toes and gave Jeremiah a kiss. As he retreated, he bit gently on Jeremiah’s plump lower lip.

Oswald suddenly found himself pinned up against the window, Jeremiah’s hands on his upper arms and his thigh in between Oswald’s legs. He was lucky he’d thought to let go of Jeremiah’s lip or he’d have easily drawn blood.

“You taking the initiative,” Jeremiah murmured, “without the excuse of a bloodlust haze? That shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but I’ve been _aching_ to kiss you - I mean, _really_ kiss you - since you got here. Flouncing around in that ridiculous feathered coat and preening like a peacock.”

Oswald couldn’t hold in a surprised moan when the other man’s warm tongue lapped at the seam of his lips and then pushed inside to thoroughly explore his mouth. Oswald was so overwhelmed at the difference between this kiss and their previous kisses, his head fell back and smacked the window pane.

Jeremiah pulled away to see if Oswald was okay, but the smaller man took hold of his face and brought him right back in. The pale man chuckled breathlessly into Oswald’s open lips and picked up where he’d left off, snaking his tongue out to entwine with Oswald’s and pushing his hips up against him. They both groaned when their clothed erections finally, _finally_ brushed against each other.

Oswald whimpered. “I’d have worn that coat so much sooner if I’d known you’d react like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the chapter into two, just as things were heating up for our boys -- it was too long. Apologies in advance for leaving you hanging...but there will be some payoff in Chapter 10!
> 
> [edited because I totally forgot that Oswald knew Selina was shot...]


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally move into hotter territory for Oswald and Jeremiah. No longer just a tease of things to come, Oswald must face the fact that Jeremiah has actually done this before. Will they be compatible or are they both too headstrong to make the necessary adjustments?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consensual BDSM references and explicit language/sex. Trigger warning for anyone who might be uncomfortable with this kind of content.
> 
> I want to say a huge thank you to my readers who encourage me to keep going and explore these two characters as they find their way. Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!

> _Oswald whimpered. “I’d have worn that coat so much sooner if I’d known you’d react like this.”_

Jeremiah chuckled, pressing kisses down Oswald’s neck before loosening the man’s tie and collar. With more skin revealed, Jeremiah nibbled the juncture between Oswald’s neck and shoulder forcing an undignified squeak out of him. 

‘God, I love that,” Oswald moaned, letting the younger man trap him against the wall with his arms. Jeremiah bit a little harder, laved the bite with his tongue and then sucked bruises into the surrounding skin while Oswald squirmed in his arms trying to get some friction.

Oswald realized after wriggling around for awhile that Jeremiah had pulled his hips away after that first press of their lower bodies. There was so much space between them that Oswald couldn’t get anywhere near what he _wanted_. 

“Jeremiah, _please_.”

“Please, what, Ozzie?”

“I'm...I need more.”

"More what? Kissing, biting, what?"

Oswald huffed, "Come on. You know. Just come closer."

“Oh, no you don't. No, no, no. Vagueness will not do at all.” Jeremiah let go and stepped back. “Use your words, Oswald. I can't know what you want unless you tell me.”

“Are you serious?” Oswald whined, practically ready to stomp his foot in frustration. “I don't need to write you a playbook! We’re finally getting somewhere. Don't tell me you’re just going to tease me and then  _stop?_ ”

Penguin wondered if he’d miscalculated when Jeremiah merely glared at him in response. The two men stood in silence until Jeremiah let out a reprimanding “tsk” sound.

“Oswald Cobblepot,” Jeremiah pronounced each syllable in a grave monotone. He slid his hand up Penguin’s waistcoat until he reached his tie and absently fiddled with the knot. “Your attitude is disappointing. Didn't we discuss how things were going to go between us? Have you already forgotten?” In a flash he grabbed the tie in his fist, dragging a wide-eyed Oswald closer. “This isn't some random grope or casual hook-up. I've made it clear exactly how I want to have you. You will do as I say or this little dance stops now.”

He shoved Oswald back and started to unbutton his shirt (again), knowing he’d get the answer he wanted. Eventually. He pointedly looked at his watch after pushing the last button free as if bored with the whole proceeding.

“Tell me what you want and maybe I'll _consider_ it.” 

Penguin was still struggling to get his breath back, unbelievably turned on by the show of power Jeremiah demonstrated. This aloof, chilly demeanor and barely simmering rage just _did_ things to him; there was no denying it and he wanted more.

“Jeremiah, come on.” He held his hands out and Jeremiah watched him expectantly, eyebrow cocked. “Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself but I want more right now. I don’t want to wait. I wanted to...touch you. Before, I mean. And you were withholding it from me, damn it. I know you’re...you want to be my...Well I agreed, of course...I do want you to act like you own me when we’re together like this and...punish me if I disappoint you, yes. All of that. But...”

Oswald’s contradictory rambling had Jeremiah breathing hard, pupils dilating to the point that his green irises were swallowed up by the darkness.

“But what? You’re going to rush me? Order me around?” he growled. “I don't care if you're getting impatient. You'll get to touch me when I say so and you'll _respond_ when I want an answer.” Then he gave a menacing cackle that raised goosebumps on Penguin’s arms. “And _act_ like I own you? Seems to me I _already_ own you, wouldn’t you say?” Getting right in his face, those unblinking eyes bore right into Oswald’s with a feral glint he’d never seen before.

 _God, that’s it, that’s the place I need him to be,_ Penguin thought, mentally preparing for the explosion. _He’s right there on the edge._

Narrowing his eyes at that fierce gaze, Oswald took a chance and stuck his chin out defiantly. As if on cue, Jeremiah slapped him hard enough to snap his head to the side. Oswald let out an obscene grunt after the open hand connected with his face and the sheer neediness in that sound made Jeremiah's cock ache. He cupped Oswald’s chin and turned his face forward again. “Answer me. Do I own you?”

Oswald sighed deeply, going limp under Jeremiah’s touch. “Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, Sir. You know you do.”

“Ah, of course I know it, but do _you_ know it? Don't just sass me to rile me up, boy. Say. The. Words. Tell me that I own you.” Crowding Oswald against the window frame, he dropped his voice lower and added, “I’ll show you how seriously I treat ownership. I take care of my things.”

He pressed his lips against Oswald’s forehead and then flicked his tongue out to trace along the heat radiating from the hand print left on his reddened cheek. Oswald keened at the contrasting sensations, leaning further into Jeremiah’s space. 

“Say it," he repeated, "and then tell me _exactly_ what you want from me _._ ” He squeezed Oswald’s arousal through his slacks, pleased to see how hard he was.

“ _Gah, okay, yes!_ You own me. Even before we started I knew you would own me. Yes, I'll do what you want. I...was trying to get you to lose your temper. Please, Jeremiah," he shivered from the stimulation Jeremiah continued to provide as a reward for his words, "May I please touch you? God, I need to feel your cock.”

“Much better, pet. You need to remember what we talked about here. You want to move past making out? You are to _ask_ for the things you want or playtime comes to a halt. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir, you're clear,” Oswald said in a small voice. When Jeremiah let go of him, Oswald leaned back on the wall for support and slowly sank to his knees, putting most of his weight on the left one. He looked up at the strangely handsome white face, not quite meeting his eyes. “Please let me suck you off? You have no idea how much I want to feel you on my tongue.”

“ _Oh_ , Ozzie.” Jeremiah smiled tightly, lightly stroking the hot cheek he’d slapped. “Now, see? That was just  _lovely_.” Oswald trembled from both the burning in his cheek and the much-needed praise, glancing between Jeremiah’s red lips and the formidable bulge in the man's pants. “What is your safe word?” 

“Maserati.”

“Maserati. Good. Now understand, if something doesn't seem right I can use your word too. If you ask me for something I don’t think is in your best interest, I always have the right to deny you. Your safety is important." He paused, looking over Oswald's posture. "Would you like me to use a condom?”

Oswald shook his head, keeping his eyes down. “Before the bridges blew, I tested clean. If you say you are, I trust you, Sir.”

The pale man nodded. “I am, and your trust is appreciated.”

Jeremiah undid his buckle and slid the belt out of the loops, snapping the belt in the air between his hands as he did so. He ran the tail end along Oswald’s reddened cheek and down his throat. 

“Remember this piece of leather my boy. I’ll use it if you disappoint me. But not the buckle end.”

Oswald trembled and murmured his consent, getting fuzzy but still able to pay attention. He was beginning to understand how important words were to Jeremiah and he needed to be prepared to answer verbally. It made Jeremiah happy.

“Very good.” He walked behind Oswald and loosely bound his wrists with the belt. "I know we talked about this. Is it still alright?"

"Yes, Sir."

He fiddled with the binding to be sure Oswald could easily release his hands if necessary. The smaller man quivered with anticipation, starting to fall into subspace. It had been months since his mind truly slipped into that peaceful zone where everything faded away and all that existed was pleasing his Dom. 

“Alright, then.” He stood in front of Penguin and cupped his chin again. “Open my pants. I’m sure you won’t need the use of your hands.”

Heart thrumming like bird’s wings, Oswald leaned in and took care of the trouser hook and eye and zipper by only using his mouth. The pale man studied him, giving nothing away. In his head, Jeremiah was in awe of how quickly and gracefully Oswald could do what he asked of him. _And how perfect those pink lips will look wrapped around my dick,_ his mind supplied as a sidebar.

Oswald tugged one side of the trousers with his teeth and then the other side, getting the pants down to Jeremiah’s thighs. A muscle to the left of Jeremiah’s mouth twitched, but Oswald missed the reaction because he wasn’t looking at his face.

 _Purple silk boxers._ Jeremiah’s choice in undergarment was as beautiful and elegant as he was and Oswald’s mouth watered seeing the wet spot from the pale man’s pre-cum. The nearly fully-erect organ had begun to push uncomfortably past the elastic waistband. Avoiding his eyes, Oswald glanced up at Jeremiah’s expression, which had changed from indifference to open interest.

“May I, Sir?” Oswald whispered.

“May you, _what_ , my pet?” Jeremiah murmured, rubbing Oswald’s jaw with his thumb.

“May I take your cock out, Sir?” Oswald was proud that he could even speak a full sentence at this point. He pressed his hot cheek against the silk-covered member and waited. The warmth radiating from the hand print and the pressure against his dick finally cracked Jeremiah's composure and he cleared his throat to cover up a grunt.

“Ugh. _Yes_. Yes you may. You...you’re doing so well. Your leg alright?” he asked, partially out of concern and partially to distract himself while Oswald peeled the boxers down with his teeth. Oswald felt Jeremiah’s stance shift slightly when the cool air hit his exposed organ.

“Yes, sir.” Oswald answered on auto-pilot, staring appreciatively at the man’s erection. It was as snowy white as the rest of Jeremiah, just a faint pink blush at the head. Definitely comparable in length to his brother’s (maybe a smidge thicker - though the whiteness might make it seem that way), with more of an upward curve toward his belly. 

“May I taste y…”

“ _Yes_ …” Jeremiah quickly interrupted, teeth clenched. “Please.” Oswald lightly traced his tongue along the vein on the underside, watching Jeremiah’s stomach muscles bunch as he barely held himself back.

Just then Oswald felt a hand in his hair and one on his shoulder, a thumb pressing hard against the bruises Jeremiah recently sucked into Oswald’s neck. Oswald groaned at the reminder of where he’d been marked and he melted under the attention. He kissed along Jeremiah’s shaft, and then dipped his head to nuzzle and mouth at his balls.

Jeremiah swore quietly, carding his fingers through Penguin’s feathery black hair. “Yes,” he murmured, “show me what that sinful mouth of yours can do.” He took himself in hand and smeared pre-cum on Oswald’s lips. “Wanna see how much of my cock you can take.”

 _Gladly,_ Oswald answered in his head. Out loud he merely made a low sound of agreement, licking delicately around the glans before swiftly engulfing two-thirds of the organ in one go. A low moan escaped Jeremiah once Oswald got a rhythm going; he took him as far down his throat as he could and swallowed around him, hollowing his cheeks. When Oswald slowly pulled off to catch his breath he glanced up at Jeremiah’s face and noted his quickened breathing and closed eyes; a tinge of pink colored the pale man’s cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. 

Before Penguin could be chastised for stopping he went right back to it, bobbing along Jeremiah’s length, tongue stroking and swirling against the sensitive flesh. The pale man cradled Oswald’s head with both hands to properly fuck his mouth. Oswald hummed and relaxed his neck and throat to let Jeremiah use him at his own pace. He was quite precise in the speed and depth of his thrusts until he realized that Oswald seemed to have little to no gag reflex. He opened his eyes again and slid one of his hands around to Oswald’s drool-covered neck, stroking the muscles.

“ _Look_ at you. So...pretty,” he managed between pants, “taking my cock so well.” Oswald savored the praise and flicked his gaze up, eyes widening at the possessive look on Jeremiah’s face. “Such a good boy. Just a little more, my pet…” Fucking his wet mouth faster, Jeremiah’s fingers came up to trace over Oswald’s hollowed cheek. “ _Mine_.”

Oswald moaned around the cock in his throat, an unbidden wetness collecting beneath his lashes as his eyes closed in satisfaction. The moan sent delicious vibrations along Jeremiah's shaft and a handful of thrusts later, Oswald felt the impressive length swell just before the pale man carefully pulled out with a choked gasp. Jeremiah quickly stroked himself through his climax, making a quiet, high pitched whine as he directed the spurts of his hot cum onto Oswald’s face while squeezing Oswald’s neck bruises with his free hand. 

At the first splash against his burning cheek, Oswald came untouched with a hoarse cry. So many sensations warred for his attention, but Jeremiah marking his territory like that was what pushed him over the edge. His whole body shook with his orgasm, there was a buzzing in his head and he felt positively  _free_.

“Oh, I've never seen anything as gorgeous as you are right now,” Jeremiah murmured reverently when he'd caught his breath and tucked himself back into his boxers. Oswald blinked his eyes open at the sound of his voice and licked his lips, cum sticking his long lashes together. When the words registered, he looked up at Jeremiah with something close to adoration. Jeremiah swiped some of his release from Oswald’s face with his thumb and Oswald obediently opened his mouth to suck the digit.

“Mmm, my gorgeous boy," he sighed. “So good for me, Ozzie.” He hastily pulled his trousers up so he could kneel in front of his sub. Once he was at eye-level with Oswald he gently took him by the shoulders and licked the fading hand print on his cheek, collecting some of the cum on his tongue and passing it to his boy in a deep kiss. Oswald hummed, too buzzed to properly kiss back but certainly able to taste and appreciate the gift.

After re-fastening his trousers, Jeremiah freed Oswald’s hands from the belt, scooped him up bridal-style and laid him on the couch in the next room. Murmuring words of encouragement, he slid his own shirt off and wiped Oswald’s face and neck of all traces of bodily fluids. Then he gently rubbed some feeling back into Oswald’s shoulders and wrists, finally massaging the man’s right calf. He paid careful attention to Oswald’s facial expressions and breathing as the muscles began loosening under his fingers.

"Come on back, my pet," he urged, when he saw Oswald watching him. He kissed the scarring on Oswald's knee and tugged the pant leg down again when he'd finished his massage. "How are you feeling?"

"So good," Oswald slurred, blinking owlishly at the surroundings, realizing where he’d been moved to. "Really, really good."

"Excellent. The leg?”

“S'ok. Better.” He shrugged like it was nothing. And to Penguin, it really didn't matter - he'd lived with the discomfort for years now.

“Hmm. We'll definitely need to come up with a more comfortable position for you.”

"But I don't mind," Oswald said, voice rough and ruined. 

"Oh, I know you don't, my sweet." Jeremiah scooted further up the couch to kiss him; lips moving delicately over Oswald’s, then tongue slowly pushing inside to find its mate. Now that Oswald was coming back to himself he gladly kissed back, really enjoying the way their tongues played over one another. It was almost as though they had been kissing like this for weeks. He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be closer to his Dom and he laid his hands on Jeremiah’s thighs, curling his fingers into the fabric of his trousers. 

"Thank you, Sir," he sighed. "Was everything...alright?" 

“Oh, Ozzie. Much more than alright. Thank _you_. You've made me very happy." Jeremiah assured him. 

“M'Glad. You were perfect. Oh, and thanks for the facial,” he added, with a sleepy grin. “Unexpected and...so _hot_.”

A gentle smile softened Jeremiah's features, making him look more like his 24 years rather than some sinister, otherworldly villain. Oswald wondered what else he could say or do to earn that kind of smile. "Lay on top of me?” he whispered, but Jeremiah shook his head.

“Not enough room here,” he reasoned. “How about this?” He carefully drew Oswald into a sitting position and then maneuvered them until Oswald was sitting on Jeremiah’s thighs, bad leg stretched out on the cushion. Warm hands slid up Oswald’s back to support him. 

“Okay?” At his nod, Jeremiah tucked Oswald’s head under his chin as he held him on his lap.

Oswald couldn’t see the look on the pale man's face, which was just as well as he’d only have misunderstood it. Jeremiah’s brow was furrowed and although it made him look surly he was merely deep in thought. The chemistry he and Oswald had together was off the charts. For someone who thrived on control, he was unnerved to feel so spellbound by Oswald’s goading and subsequent surrender. This kind of relationship wasn’t new for Jeremiah; though his previous  _arrangement_ had been some time ago, he understood that ultimately the sub was the one in charge. But...this dynamic with Oswald felt strangely different. Even his own reactions were unfamiliar. In fact, his stomach had been in knots for much of the scene.

He would definitely need to think on it some more when he was alone. He was good at puzzles.

“Need anything?” Jeremiah whispered after a little quiet time passed.

“Nothing that requires either of us to move." Oswald leaned back to look Jeremiah in the eye. "Oh, and I like you without a shirt like this, Mr. Valeska. It might be my new favorite thing. Well, second...no, no, _third_ favorite thing about you.”

Jeremiah’s surprised giggle made Oswald’s heart swell. “Do I get to guess the other two?”

“Maybe later,” Oswald smirked. “So, I see you _have_ Dommed before.”

“Well, admittedly I’m out of practice but, yes. Why on earth would we have even discussed it ahead of time if I hadn't?"

Oswald shrugged. “You might have wanted to try something new. It happens, Jeremiah.”

“Oswald, I wouldn't put either of us in that position. Getting into a relationship like this shouldn’t be treated like a chance experiment. Speaking of relationships, we’ll need to have our in-depth conversation now that we’ve actually started down this path.” Jeremiah shifted Oswald’s weight onto the couch and stood up to stretch his legs. “When you're ready to move, we need to get you some dry underthings, yes? I can’t imagine you’ll want to sit around like _that_ for the rest of the night.” 

“May I request something in purple?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Oh, I think I can arrange that. Although,” he paused, leaning over to kiss Oswald’s temple, “the thought of you in a pair of my boxers is rather...stimulating. Please be sure to get dressed _after_ I've left the room or we might end up skipping dinner altogether.”

Oswald smiled. After all, that wouldn't necessarily be a _bad_ thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before heading home to Martin, Oswald enjoys dinner and conversation with Jeremiah by candlelight and gets the man to open up a little about his past. Includes a very quick flashback for Jeremiah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very dialogue heavy, apologies up front if that’s not your thing. Hope it gives some context for Jeremiah’s background which we’ll revisit again via flashback in a future chapter. Enjoy!

 

> _“When you're ready to move, we need to get you some dry underthings, yes? I can’t imagine you’ll want to sit around like that for the rest of the night.”_
> 
> _“May I request something in purple?”_
> 
> _Jeremiah laughed. “Oh, I think I can arrange that. Although,” he paused, leaning over to kiss Oswald’s temple, “the thought of you in a pair of my boxers is rather...stimulating. Please be sure to get dressed after I've left the room or we might end up skipping dinner altogether.”_

 

While Oswald got freshened up, Jeremiah asked Ecco to order Thai food from the Dragonfly two blocks away. She tasted everything just in case (a fairly new practice once he became universally disliked after destroying the clock tower) and then she set up a table for the two men on the 8th floor balcony. She left a lighter next to the candles _._

When Penguin came back to the sitting area, Jeremiah was on the phone talking to someone about a storage warehouse. He waved Oswald over as he finished up his conversation.

“What did you decide on? I’m as curious as can be.”

Oswald smiled cheekily. “Well, you didn’t have any with penguins on them. We’ll have to remedy that.” At Jeremiah’s smirk, he added, “The lavender silk with white pinstripes. Very tasteful. I might need to find a pair of my own.”

“Keep them. Think of me when you wear them, and bring me something of yours sometime,” he winked. “Anything. Surprise me.”

“I love it. What an unpredictable show of sentimentality.”

“Mmm. A way to mark our ‘first time’ together, if you will.”

Oswald leaned over the couch and kissed Jeremiah affectionately on the forehead. 

The elevator dinged and Ecco called to them from the doorway. “Mr. Valeska, Mr. Cobblepot. Your meal is ready on 8. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Did you get enough food for yourself, Ecco?” Jeremiah stepped aside to let Oswald walk in front of him, just barely stopping himself from putting a hand on his back.

“I did. Pad Thai and Tamarind Fish for me. There’s red bean ice cream and mango sticky rice for dessert in the refrigerator, just text me and I’ll bring it up when you’re ready. Oh, and if you need more tea as well.”

“Very good. Shall we?” He held the elevator door to make sure it didn’t close on them and they headed up while Ecco took the other elevator back down to the barracks area.

“Does she always handle the ordering?” Oswald asked, looking around at the myriad containers of take-out enough for four people.

“Not always.” Jeremiah lit the two candles. “But I trust her judgement. Especially with Asian cuisine - it’s a favorite of hers. Her last lover was from mainland China - another expert in hand-to-hand combat, of course.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The fierceness of that woman frightened even me. I was glad when they parted ways.” He noted Oswald’s appraisal of the food. “She’s already tested everything in case you're concerned.”

“No,” Oswald mused, “that wasn’t what I meant. It just looks like she expected an army.”

“Oh, we always get more than we need. It won’t go to waste. Remember, there are people living downstairs that haven’t yet earned my wrath . Oh, good. I see she ordered a variety of fish dishes. I’d advised her that you had a preference for it.”

Oswald nodded gratefully as his stomach growled in response. Catfish in Chili Sauce, Tamarind Sole and Salmon Curry were the fish entrees, with Basil Lamb (Ecco always included a meat dish for Jeremiah though she knew he would partake of the salmon), Pad Thai noodles, Glass Noodle Soup, and Pineapple Fried Rice.

“Should we...have that conversation now, Jeremiah?” Oswald asked, a little skittish even now thinking about saying certain things aloud.

Jeremiah was quietly thoughtful, dishing out food and contemplating the right response. He met Oswald’s eyes and smiled.

“We can, if now is the best time for you. This is about your comfort, Oswald. You’re welcome to take some time to think it through, even write some things down if it helps. So, now or later, take as long as you need. But I must insist we talk everything through before we have our next, er, _dance_.”

“I understand. You’ve made it clear that you want explicit confirmation. I'll give it a little more thought, though I think I'm pretty close to knowing what I want to say.”

“Good. I don’t personally have a lot of limits but more than a handful of kinks, so it would be difficult for me to discern where the lines need to be drawn. Also,” he rested his chin on his hand, watching Oswald cut a piece of catfish into a more manageable bite, “there are other side effects of the gas. I seem to have been blessed with more strength and more stamina. That could prove to be troublesome without direct, honest guidance from my partner.”

“More stamina, you say?” Oswald winked.

“Careful what you wish for, my little Penguin. I’m afraid it might be akin to Viagra on steroids, judging by how long it takes just to will away an inconvenient erection…I might be able to go for hours if properly motivated.”

Penguin laughed lustily, imagining the possibilities.

They were half-way through the meal when Oswald broached the subject that had been on his mind since he and Jeremiah had concluded their afternoon ‘playtime.’

“Tell me about him.”

“Hmm? Who?”

“Or her,” Oswald corrected with an embarrassed chuckle. “The person who got you into BDSM.”

“Oh! No, no, not a her. _Definitely_ not a her,” Jeremiah snickered. “Not only because I’ve never had an interest in the so-called ‘fairer sex,’ but I might well have beaten some poor woman to death imagining she was my mother.”

“Oh, my,” Oswald feigned surprise. “I see how that might have been an issue.”

Jeremiah shook his head, smiling. “You do know if you ask me questions about my past, it’s only fair I do the same to you.” Oswald blushed but inclined his head in agreement. “Okay then. So, the person that got me into this was my last submissive. Well, not just my last, my only. I was in grad school at the time and he was one of my professors.”

“Wait, how old were you?” Oswald was honestly surprised - first that a teacher wouldn’t have been the Dominant partner in a relationship with a student, and that such a taboo situation arose in a scholarly environment.

“Well, I skipped quite a few grades and finished college very early. I was 18 when we made our arrangement, and he was one of my physics professors.”

“That seems young,” the other man said critically. “Even with you dominating, that could be construed as an abusive relationship for you.”

“Now, now. Eighteen is the age of consent in Gotham, Ozzie,” Jeremiah said, chopsticks suspended between the plate and his lips. “Surely you know that in your line of work.” He chewed and swallowed, considering his next words carefully. “And to be fair, I was the one who came on to him. It was after we became lovers that he introduced the BDSM elements to our relationship.” At Oswald’s raised eyebrows he smirked self-consciously. “Yes, you heard me correctly. I made a pass at _him_ in an after-school meeting about my doctoral thesis.”

_***_

6 years earlier...

_"Did you have this theory tested independently?”_

_“I did.”_

_Jeremiah Valeska, living under the alias Xander Wilde for the last 8 years, primly folded his hands on the teacher’s desk and held his gaze determinedly, challenging him to try and prove him wrong._  

_"And it held up?” Dr. Perkins leaned back in his chair, amused by the senior’s confidence._

_"It did. What are your concerns?”_

_“Oh, I don’t have any concerns, Mr. Wilde. It’s brilliant.” Not for the first time, the young professor found himself gazing fondly between the boy’s big hazel eyes and his perfect lips. “You...You are going to be very successful in whatever you pursue. Have you decided yet on a career?”_

_“I’m focusing on structural engineering at this point. Thank you...for recognizing the validity of my work. Your guidance has been invaluable.” Xander placed his right hand on the teacher’s left. “And, yes, I intend to be successful in everything I pursue.”_

_Perkins glanced down at Xander’s pale, freckled hand covering his own and swallowed nervously._

_“You’re welcome. Uh, for some reason I had the impression you were a shy young man. But I guess I misjudged you?”_

_“Not shy, Dr. Perkins. Just selective. I’d like to take you to lunch, if you can get away sometime this week.”_  

_“Xander.” Perkins was completely caught off guard. “You do know there are strict rules about fraternizing, right?”_

_“I’m aware, yes. Rather antiquated concept. It seems ridiculous when consenting adults find one another attractive. It's hardly going to damage my psyche.” He studied the man in front of him and when he sensed his resolve weakening, he continued. “What day works for you,_ Samuel _?”_

 _The way Xander said his name sent a thrill down the slightly older man’s spine_.

_“Why don’t you pick the day and just tell me to be there.” Perkins turned his hand palm-side up and laced their fingers together, earning a beguiling smile from the young man. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Xander smile before, he was always so serious and introverted._

_“Mmm. Alright, then. Saturday. 1:30. Libby’s. Don’t wear your wedding ring.”_

_“Yes. I’ll...er, I’ll make it work.”_

***

Ecco brought in the dessert after receiving Jeremiah’s text, and he continued answering Oswald’s questions about his sexual history.

"How on earth did he broach the subject?" Oswald couldn't imagine that conversation being anything but incredibly awkward.

"He did it in stages. First, he wanted me to get a little rougher, which I had no problem with. Then, he playfully brought out some light restraints - the kind you'd get in a catalog or boutique - nothing heavy duty. It was certainly interesting, and again, I didn't mind. But when he brought up more hard core activities, I was uncomfortable and told him that I couldn't do those things to him in good conscience. He said he understood my concern and asked if I'd read through one of his favorite books to get a better feel for what was being asked of me. I really didn't want to, but the sex was great and I was spoiled for the plain vanilla boys I'd been with in school...so, I took the book with me that night. It was an older book even then, published in the 90's by Henkin and Holliday. Very thorough, a reference book more than anything."

He stood up and stretched his legs. “I’m going to have a smoke at the broken window - join me?”

Oswald followed Jeremiah over to the stained glass window, which had acquired another break in it since the last time he was up here. “Another bullet hole?”

“No. A bat, if you can believe it. Damn thing crashed right into the window. Ecco coaxed it into a cage from its hiding place with the help of some overripe fruit and let it go. Haven’t fixed the panel yet. Anyway. I found the book fascinating, but didn't read it all the way through. Skipped around quite a bit which was disastrous. I missed some very important points and left my friend in a bad state after I got too enthusiastic in our next session."

Oswald's eyes widened in understanding. "How bad?"

"He didn't come to school the next day, and when I spoke to him he was very down. Almost depressed. He'd apparently experienced this before; I expect you're familiar with the term sub drop? He knew what to do to alleviate much of it himself but I felt positively awful about it. In addition to the emotional state I'd left him in, there were more obvious physical things I should have done to better treat his wounds. He bounced back quickly, thankfully, but I sat down that very night and started the book again. Stayed up and read it cover to cover."

"You were on a mission."

Jeremiah crushed out the cigarette and immediately started on a second.

"Chain smoking?"

He nodded. "I do, actually. On and off. I can go for days without, and then I'll smoke three in quick succession. So, I also did some follow-up research in the school library because I couldn't possibly borrow the materials I was reviewing, but I became very, _very_ serious about my responsibilities as a Dominant. The more I learned, the more I felt like this role really called to me - that maybe I’d had this inside me all along. The next time Sam and I were together, I was careful to make it up to him for the previous circumstance. I know that I probably overcompensated as a result of that lesson, but I'd rather have done that than leave my partner in such a sorry situation again. And it's not like he could just go home and lick his wounds in private. He had a wife and two kids so he had to make up a good story for why he was in such misery - he faked the flu just to get them to stay away from him while he recovered. How else to cover up aches and pains and lethargy? Good excuse really, because to avoid catching it his wife slept in the boys' room and never saw the bruising or cuts."

"My God. It must have really weighed on you. I guess that's also why you're so relentless about up front permission." Jeremiah nodded, a reproachful look on his face as he watched the smoke curl up from the cherry end of the cigarette. "But Jeremiah, you learned your lesson well. I’ll admit I'd never felt so safe and cared for after a scene than I did today. Thank you for that, it was wonderful."

Jeremiah smiled and met Oswald's eyes. "I’m glad. Aftercare is a major part of the deal with me if we pursue this, so I'm grateful you didn't try to push yourself or rush through it. Providing for someone else's welfare - someone who was voluntarily vulnerable with me - is very gratifying. I still get to exercise a significant measure of control, which you obviously know by now is a key motivator for me."  He flicked the cigarette out the window and crossed his arms, leaning on the thick stained glass panel. "More importantly, I feel there is a bonding factor to it. I’ll want to use the time we spend afterward to further build trust between us: that you know you can let go and I'll unquestionably be there to catch you."

Oswald felt himself getting choked up and blinked rapidly before tears could prickle his eyes. Jeremiah noticed and stepped into Oswald's space, gently taking hold of his chin and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Come. Let's finish up the tea." He took Oswald by the hand and led him back to the table.  

Dousing the candles before they burned too low, Oswald tried to lighten the mood. "What about your first time ever? Wild as you seemed to be, I'm thinking you must have been around 13."

“Oh, stop! I wasn’t quite that young when I lost my virginity. Fifteen. Not that I had a particularly overactive sex drive. Even now, I’m not overly driven by hormones unless I’ve actually found someone that really appeals to me. Present company included,” he smirked. “But I didn’t lack for willing partners. I was in an all-boys boarding school. Once a couple of fellow students checked out my equipment in the gym showers, word spread among interested parties that I was fairly well endowed.”

“Fairly?” Oswald giggled. “Talk about modest.”

Jeremiah shrugged, lips turned up in a tiny smile. “Well, that had to be the reason more boys were interested in me than I was in them. I could afford to be choosy. So, how old were you? In the spirit of sharing, of course.”

“Sixteen. But it wasn’t a boy my age. It was a married man in his 40s. And then I got to play the virgin over and over again for almost two years after that. It paid well.” Oswald kept his eyes down, poking at his ice cream. When he looked up he seemed surprised that Jeremiah’s expression had not changed.

“No judgment, Oswald. Life is hard. We all do what we have to, to survive. Everything we’ve done paved the road that led us here. If you consider your past as a series of stepping stones to your present, it’s harder to have regrets.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new day and Oswald and Jeremiah each need to take care of their own business dealings.
> 
> As usual, sentences in italics are the character's inner thoughts. Bold/italics represent Martin's note pad scribbles.

It had been years since Jeremiah used an alarm clock. He rarely slept more than 4 hours a night, and always woke by 4:30 am no matter what time he fell asleep. This morning was no exception. He woke to the usual annoying morning wood which he simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with - so he ignored it in favor of just getting up and making a cup of coffee until the condition  _deflated_ so he could properly take a leak.

While he had been fairly modest when he lived in the bunker - always putting on boxers in case Ecco wandered by - since the insanity gas destroyed what remained of his inhibitions, he had no reservations whatsoever about walking around his quarters completely nude. He strolled out of his bedroom to the coffee maker and made two K-cup shots of espresso, adding two sugars and bringing the hot drink to his designated smoking window. It was still dark out at this hour of the morning, but Jeremiah could make out the rooftops of nearby buildings and skyscrapers in the distance which helped him think.

He sipped his coffee as the first drops of rain started falling, a light sprinkle landing on the back of his hand where he dangled his lit cigarette out of the window’s open upper sash. He didn’t even give a thought to closing the window - it was such a novelty to have one after so many years underground. He considered turning this spot into a window seat. Maybe he'd even get a cat. (He made a mental note that he should probably wear clothes when handling creatures with claws.)

He ran through a list in his head of all he had to do that day: he had a few phone calls to take care of before 10 AM, several of them concerning a real estate transaction for property just outside the city limits. He also had to make necessary tweaks to his new bomb design and review Gotham First National Bank’s floor plan. He wanted a bank heist under his belt with that fool Riddler out of the picture. Granted, there weren’t a lot of cops to interfere with a bank robbery right now, but Jeremiah wanted to remain under the radar. The last thing he needed was for goody two-shoes Gordon to arrest him for the destruction of the bridges. Of course, he could always just escape custody; the GCPD were incompetent. But he hated to have his plans delayed by trivialities. He'd mention the bank heist to Penguin to see if he wanted to participate. 

 _Ah, yes. Ozzie_.

Being with Oswald had been such a treat yesterday, and Jeremiah had spent a lot of time thinking about it after the gangster left around midnight. He continued to be surprised by just how much he enjoyed Oswald’s company. Most of all, he was surprised by his own reactions after their first sexual encounter. Yes, he enjoyed taking care of his sub - he’d known that would be the case with Oswald too - but he seemed to have lost track of time when doing so. He spent a good amount of time just holding Oswald (and actually could have fallen asleep sitting on the couch with him like that) well after Ozzie had recovered. Frankly he couldn’t wait to spend more time with him.

The fact of the matter was he was smitten with Cobblepot - a feeling he could never really remember having had before.

_Unless I count my obsession with my...No, no._

He quickly put an end to that train of thought and finished his coffee and smoke. 

After his shower, he made his phone calls dressed in his custom dark purple and black suit, today with a pale mint shirt and grass green tie with lavender dots. _The fools on staff at Neidermeyer’s insisted the dots were grey, but when paired with anything purple, they clearly took on a lavender hue. It just wasn’t worth arguing with simpletons. No sense of style._

The person he had been trying to reach for a few days finally surfaced, and Jeremiah made his offer on the property outside of Gotham. With the offer accepted, an appointment was made to meet later that day. He called the contractor he had on call and set up that appointment as well, and the last call involved making a deal with someone from the Narrows who was interested in purchasing demolition supplies. What Jeremiah had for sale could definitely be used for demolition, after all.

***

Across town, Oswald dressed in one of his favorite power suits for his upcoming business meeting at the dockyard. The suit was silvery gray with black pinstripes and matching waistcoat, and he paired it with a crisp white wing collar shirt and a silver, black and burgundy paisley tie.

Today Oswald was expecting a major shipment at Warehouse 7, the very place Jeremiah’s people had abducted him. Boats and container ships were making increased trips into Gotham since there was no ground transportation to and from the city. Weapons were not the expected cargo this go round; this time, Oswald was expecting heavy construction equipment and raw materials.

The least damaged of the city bridges had already been slated for road work, with repairs to get underway next month. As one of the most respectable of the crime bosses in town, he’d been able to start organizing a labor force the day after the bridges fell. When bidding opened next week, Oswald intended to win the contract - whether by legal means or otherwise. As soon as the shipment was received and secured, he’d let Jeremiah in on the plan - see if he was interested in partnering. Or if he would at least let Oswald rebuild and not blow the damn thing up as soon as it was finished.

He had breakfast with Martin around 8 am. Martin was “chatty” that morning, writing out questions about Oswald’s “date” with Mr. J.

“It wasn’t a...date...Martin. We had a...business meeting and then dinner.” Oswald rolled his eyes, trying to contain his blush as he thought back to their “meeting.” _Oh, I got the business, alright,_ he smirked to himself.

**_When will you bring Mr. J here again?_ **

“Why? Did you want to see him? I would have thought you’d want nothing to do with him after the part he’d played in that little situation …”

Martin scribbled again. **_He was nice to me. I only saw him on the video and then here the day I came home. And you like him._**  He shrugged.

“We’ll see. If I invite him here, would you want to join us for dinner?” The boy nodded vigorously. “Alright. If it fits into our schedules.”

***

At 4pm, after several hours of supervising the grueling offloading of goods, Oswald was satisfied that his deliveries were accurate and once the money changed hands, he had his people lock down the equipment and properly store the supplies: bags of concrete, bars of iron and steel, cables and pulleys. It was quite difficult running an operation this size without a second in command. Remorsefully he thought back to when Butch would have done this for him - long ago, before Tabby. Before Grundy. Oswald dusted off his suit jacket - glad he hadn’t needed to knife anyone today and get blood on his suit - and then called Jeremiah.

Jeremiah had just himself exchanged money for goods. For an estate, specifically. After paying the broker for the manor and land it sat on, Jeremiah had his people enter the home to clear out any remaining squatters. The two men identified as responsible for much of the damage to the interior were held in the kitchen until Jeremiah came in. He surveyed the destruction, clucked his tongue in annoyance and then immediately shot each of them in the face.

He looked over at the goons in the doorway. “Take out the trash, would you?” _Some people have no respect for quality aesthetics._ His phone rang just as the second body was being dragged away.

"Oswald, what a delightful surprise.”

“Jeremiah! I hope I didn’t catch you at an inconvenient time.”

“Oh, no." He snapped his spring action handgun back up his sleeve. "I was just finishing up some business. What can I do for you?”

“I wondered if you could get away for a visit to the dockyard. I have something to show you as well as a proposition of sorts.”

“Hmm.” Jeremiah walked into the manor’s library for privacy. “I’m always open to a proposition from you. But at the dockyard?" He dropped his voice to a low purr. "That’s a bit exhibitionist of you. You know I don’t like to share my things, pet. I'd prefer something a little more...intimate.”

Oswald, of course, turned bright red. “That’s...that’s not what I meant, you cad,” he murmured.

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to get a rise out of you,” he chuckled. “Did it work?” Jeremiah looked up at the exquisite oil painting above the library's stately mantle and was relieved to see that it wouldn’t need restoration.

Oswald huffed in mock frustration. “Yes, yes. Of course it did. You’re positively evil!”

“You’re not the first to call me evil, though it’s usually directed at me for different reasons. In all seriousness, when would you like me to be there? I’m going to be wrapping up my business in the next hour or two.”

“Perhaps it's best if you show up under cover of night. I know you’re trying to lay low.”

Jeremiah traced along a scratch in the wallpaper with his leather clad fingers. “Yes. How about 9 pm. Shall I meet you at Number 7?”

“Yes, and let’s keep it to just a handful of trusted people. See you then.”

After hanging up, Jeremiah greeted the contractor that was waiting for him outside. “I want you to do a walk-through and estimate how much it will cost to restore this fine place. No significant renovations. I'm not readying it for sale, it will remain a private holding. I’m mostly interested in cleaning the upholstery, and repairing the floors, walls, windows and ceilings from the months of neglect and outright disrespect of the place. I’m in a hurry to get it finished, so take that into account in your pricing.”

Jeremiah took a walk around the property, thankful that, though overgrown, there wasn’t any damage to the gardens and walkways. It was still too cold for planting and besides, the garden was probably something Oswald would prefer tending to himself.

“Mr. Valeska,” the burly fellow called to him from the back patio, “I think I’ve got an idea how long this will take.”

The pale man strolled to the steps and gestured for the contractor to come closer to talk.

“With the right number of workers we can get it done during regular business hours in two weeks, for around $64K. These wood floors, especially the staircase, need sanding and refinishing. They were once lovely but someone did a number on them.”

Jeremiah nodded patiently. “If I doubled that price for you, could you do it in less? Possibly four or five calendar days, round the clock?”

“I’ll need to find more manpower but, yes. It can be done. I'll get to work on it.”

“Excellent.”

Ecco came over and whispered something in Jeremiah’s ear that caused his mouth to tighten unpleasantly.

“Show us.” He indicated for the contractor to follow and they went to an upstairs storage area. There, previously covered by a sheet, was a large oil portrait of the former mayor of Gotham. In the background of the portrait, the chief of staff was depicted - an addition that appeared to be an afterthought to the rest of the painting. _Probably done after Oswald fell for the cold-hearted bastard._

The portrait was defaced by crudely spray painted green question marks.  _As if we couldn't tell who damaged the painting by the color alone. And they call_ me _a lunatic._

“We don’t do art restorations, Mr. Valeska.”

“Oh. That won’t be necessary. Dispose of this, please. You can burn it for all I care. Then, while your people are doing the clean up, I want you to go through every drawer, every nook and cranny, and dispose of anything that references this man,” he pointed to the background figure, “the former mayor’s chief of staff, Edward Nygma. There is to be _nothing_ in this house that bears his name or likeness.” Jeremiah put a red gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. “Photos, news articles, anything. This is a very important matter to me. See that it is handled discreetly but thoroughly.”

“Yessir, Mr. Valeska.”

“Ecco will show you out.”

Jeremiah walked down the stairs, surveying the disarray. He’d need to come back and go through the upstairs closets to see what, if anything, remained and was salvageable of Oswald’s personal belongings and clothing. He glanced once more at the painting of Elijah van Dahl over the fireplace. _Your son will have this house back very soon, and heaven help the next person who tries to take it from him._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald and Jeremiah meet up at Warehouse 7 to discuss business and make plans for the conversation needed to set the ground rules for their Dom/sub relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for posting more than a week after the last chapter.

Oswald couldn’t quite understand why his palms were so sweaty. He straightened his tie for the umpteenth time and paced around the warehouse like a prospective dad waiting for his wife to give birth. There were only 3 goons along for the meeting - a guard inside, and a driver and lookout with the car.

The knock came at exactly 9 PM. Guard Goon cocked his pistol and slid the peephole over and once he saw Jeremiah Valeska on the other side, he unbolted and opened the door.

The pale man walked in with henchwoman Ecco behind him, glancing around the warehouse with a look of mild disinterest until his eyes landed on Oswald.

“Penguin. So good to see you.” He stepped up to Oswald and lowered his head to purr directly into his ear. “It’s been too long. What, 21 hours? But who’s counting.”

Oswald let out a shaky sigh. “Jeremiah,” he greeted. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.” A brief handshake was exchanged as a formality for the goon standing nearby.

“Mr. Cobblepot, why do you have front loaders, dump trucks, a grader and a...is that a crane assemblage...in here? Never took you for a blue collar man.” He dropped his voice again and added, “though I’m quite sure you must be good with your hands.”

Clearing his throat and praying he wasn’t as red as he felt, Oswald gestured grandly to the heavy equipment and the piles of bagged materials at the far end of the double sized facility. “This is the start of my latest project. One which I wanted to discuss with you.”

Jeremiah’s eyebrow rose and, intrigued, he waited for Penguin to continue.

“So, I’d begun arranging workers a few weeks ago for a construction project which goes to bid shortly. If you are interested in being part of it, I’d love to have you onboard as either an investor or a partner. If it turns out you aren’t interested, I’d just like to work out an agreement with you that the project can continue uninterrupted.” He glanced pointedly at Jeremiah and then at Ecco.

“Ah. And might this project have something to do with the reconstruction of Westward Bridge?”

“Yes, actually. I intend to win the contracts and get work started immediately.” Oswald swallowed quietly, knowing that as confident as he was in his business dealings, Jeremiah could easily disrupt the process with his unpredictable nature.

“Good. I think this is an excellent project for you to be spearheading. Knowing your taste in aesthetics you will modernize and elevate the safety and architecture of that old eyesore. Your political savvy will also help you secure support. I don’t necessarily want to partner, but I’ll throw in as an investor and even review the blueprints for you as a double check if you like.”

“I’m thrilled to have your support,” _and relieved_ , he added in his head. “You reviewing the specs is a bonus I hadn’t even considered. Thank you.”

Jeremiah smiled benignly. “Of course. It’s not a project I personally would have taken on considering the red tape involved when working with the city, but you have the finesse and temperament required to handle government lackies. If you run into any trouble securing the bid, maybe I can help with that as well,” he smirked. “My explosives can be quite persuasive.”

Nodding his agreement, Oswald stepped sideways so that his hand inconspicuously pressed against Jeremiah’s.

“You’re too generous.” He felt a little thrill in touching him like this, especially since Jeremiah's hands were ungloved.

Jeremiah said sharply, “Ecco, would you and Oswald’s man kindly step outside?”

Surprised, Oswald turned his head to catch Guard Goon’s eye. “It’s alright. Leave us.”

When the door was closed, Jeremiah’s mouth was on his and Oswald nearly swooned from the intensity of the kiss. So demanding, so possessive, so...hot. The artful thrusting of Jeremiah’s tongue so clearly mimicked the act of fucking that Oswald was instantly hard and aching, head spinning with the fantasy of them doing exactly that. This kiss was even more intense than yesterday’s.

Drawing back, gripping Oswald’s neck as if holding a kitten by the scruff, he warned, “We really need to set the ground rules.” Jeremiah absently swiped the back of his free hand across his wet lips as he paused. “Apart from a polite handshake, touching me is a privilege you _only_ have in private. In other words, I can initiate touching in public but - if I don't - you are not permitted to touch me. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes...Sir,” he gulped, eyes widening in surprise. “I was out of line. But I needed to feel you.”

“You’re such a needy thing aren’t you? You’ll feel me, alright,” he chuckled darkly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re coming to my place tomorrow night and staying over.” Jeremiah tugged Oswald close until they could each feel how aroused the other was.

“Yes, Master,” Oswald groaned, burrowing his face into Jeremiah’s chest.

“Ah. Did I say you could call me that?” Jeremiah chastised, pushing Oswald back.

“No, but…”

“No. I _didn’t_. You chose Sir as my title and Sir it remains until I give you permission to call me something else aside from my name.”

Oswald was mortified, deeply concerned about disappointing his Dom. _Twice in just 5 minutes!_ Jeremiah could see by the look on his face that he was getting upset.

“Shhh. Listen.” He rubbed Oswald’s upper arms. “I appreciate how you’re feeling, pet. It pleases me that you feel so close to me already. But don’t color outside the lines until we finish establishing the lines. No ad libbing, especially not in public. Am I clear?”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

“I don’t know how well you had to follow rules in the past, but you will have very clear rules with me which will benefit us both. Now,” he pulled Oswald close again, “where was I? Oh yes. You will arrange to stay the night at my place tomorrow. Yes?”

“Yes, Sir.” And now that he’d agreed _correctly_ , Jeremiah kissed him again; tenderly this time rather than passionately.

“Good boy. I’ve spent all day thinking about you, you know.” He stroked Oswald’s cheek with bare fingertips and Oswald automatically leaned into the touch. He moaned quietly when Jeremiah pressed his face into Oswald’s neck and breathed deeply. “God, you smell so amazing. What IS that?” Jeremiah was barely audible as his lips moved against Oswald’s skin.

“Ah, it’s…” he almost drew a blank, shivering at the feel of those pillowy lips and graze of teeth against his neck. “Pure Havane. Thierry Mugler.”

“It’s so smokey. What else? Vanilla?” He drew back and looked intensely at Oswald, the gray-green color nearly disappearing around the blown pupils.

“Yes, and honey, I think. A fairly recent purchase. I chose it because it...stays close to the skin. Very little sillage so it’s only scented up close. So only _you_ would be able to smell it.”

“Mmm. That’s very, very clever, Oswald. Very thoughtful. Knowing I don’t like to share you’re incorporating that into your personal care?”

Oswald nodded solemnly. “I sensed you would like the smokey essence due to your fondness of explosives and fire.”

Jeremiah audibly drew in a breath, rubbing Oswald’s back affectionately.

“What an insightful observation. So sexy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?” A tiny whine escaped Oswald as Jeremiah nuzzled his ear and continued. “I want to take you apart and put you back together, piece by pretty piece.” He stepped back, holding onto Oswald’s shoulders. “Tomorrow. 5 pm sharp. Bring your overnight bag but not a lot of clothes - just what you need to go back home. Be prepared to discuss your limits and interests and we’ll go from there.” He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Oswald’s forehead. “Now, let’s get out of here - you’re simply too tempting for me to remain here any longer without ravishing you. We can talk about the construction investment another time. I'm in, just let me know how much.”

When they got to the door, Jeremiah looked down at Oswald with a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, and clear your calendar for the day after tomorrow. I don’t know _when_ we’ll be done.”

***

Neither of them slept much that night.

Jeremiah, awake for the majority of the night anyway, busied himself with finishing up a “playroom.” He’d started putting it together a week ago, but finally added the last touches. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the current space options in Stravinsky Hall, it would suffice for now. His main objective was to keep his bedroom a neutral retreat: for resting, sleeping, aftercare - but not for play dates.

Oswald lay awake almost all night, alternatively eager and worried for the next day. He couldn’t wait to fully become Jeremiah’s submissive and yet he feared he would somehow be a disappointment. Things were already going well; he knew it was irrational to be so insecure, but it was simply his nature to be self-conscious and pessimistic about a new relationship when he’d had so few of them.

At breakfast, Oswald told Martin he’d be out overnight. When Martin looked as though he wanted to ask why, Oswald testily forbade him from asking questions saying it was business and not to worry. But Martin had never seen Oswald take a personal suitcase with him to work (unless it was a briefcase full of money) so he had his suspicions. He was almost nine after all! Nodding pleasantly he finished his cereal. Tomorrow he’d get a chance to ask all his questions when his poppa wasn’t so nervous.

The day dragged on no matter how busy Penguin made himself. He purposely made visits throughout his territory in Gotham, spending time with those that worked for him to keep his mind occupied. By 2pm, he was so edgy from both not sleeping and being so full of anticipation that he sat in the back of his car and considered whiskey to calm his nerves. He debated calling Jeremiah to either cancel or beg to be seen sooner.

As if they had some sort of mental connection, Jeremiah rang him 20 minutes later.

“Hello Oswald. Just checking on you. Are we all set for tonight?”

“Jeremiah! Yes, yes. Of course. I’m actually wrapping things up.”

“Great. Feel free to come earlier. Even now, if you like. I'm done for the day and we can unwind a little. I’ll make some of that hibiscus tea you enjoy. There are scones, too.”

Oswald let out a long held breath. “Excellent, thank you. I’ll head over as soon as I can.”

***

Settled on the couch with a cup of tea and a pastry, Oswald’s nerves were less frayed and he’d even started to relax. Jeremiah had been a perfect host, making sure he was comfortable both physically (adjusting the temperature and lighting, and offering refreshments and an extra pillow) and mentally (by discussing topics of shared interest like murder and mayhem).

When Oswald finally asked if he could remove his suit jacket, Jeremiah was immediately at his elbow to take the coat and his shoulder holster and, shedding his own too, he draped them within view on a nearby chair

“You know,” Oswald laughed self-consciously as he side-eyed Jeremiah sitting not far from him, “it was fortuitous that you rang me when you did. I was just finishing up my business.”

“I took a chance,” the pale man said quietly. “Knowing your temperament as I now do, I thought you might be ruminating on the coming evening. I figured we could both use some time to just enjoy each other’s company without any pressure. I tried to time my call for when you’d likely exhausted all efforts to stay busy before you murdered some innocent bystander to let off steam.”

Oswald gaped at him, not expecting to have been quite so transparent.

“Don’t be alarmed, Ozzie. It’s my job to understand what you need.”

After a moment or two of stunned silence, Jeremiah found himself with a lapful of Cobblepot.

“Ozzie?” As the smaller man curled tightly into his chest, Jeremiah gently rubbed Oswald’s back. “Oh, pet,” he soothed. "I've got you."

"Thank you,” Oswald muttered into the pale man's shirt, overwhelmed but more grateful than he could put into words. 

“Of course. We’re a team now; I’m focused on what will make you happy. In turn, I know you’ll do the same. Alright?”

When Oswald was sure he wasn't tearing up, he nodded crisply and returned to his original seat.

”You did manage to refrain from killing some unfortunate soul, didn’t you?”

Oswald laughed lightly. “Yes. But only  just. No one suitable was around.” 

“Good. And now that we’ve had some tea and are in a neutral space I think we should have "the" conversation. If we wait until later on, things may get too…” he searched for the right word, “ _heated_ \- and we might skip some important parts of the discussion. Agreed?”

“Yes, this is the perfect opportunity. While I still have my wits about me.”

“And I, mine. Don’t forget you’re distracting to me too, Ozzie.”

Jeremiah smiled with such unguarded affection that it nearly took Oswald’s breath away. The moments when Jeremiah let the mask drop were so rare it was like the sun peeking through a rainy Gotham. Unlike Oswald who wore his heart on his sleeve all the time. 

_And Jeremiah said he would cure me of my emotions. Not likely. I think I'm rubbing off on him._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of frank sexual talk between our two main protagonists so they can navigate their D/s relationship with the appropriate level of commitment and awareness. Jeremiah and Oswald communicate what they like, what they might try, and identify the 'hell no' deal breakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of sexual acts and/or kinks which are now in the tags and will be incorporated in future chapters.
> 
> If you'd rather get right to the juicy stuff, skip this and wait for Chapter 15. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Now that it was time to actually get down to the business of setting out boundaries and protocols, Oswald regretted not bringing a list.

“Um...I didn’t write anything on paper. It felt strange. I'm fairly certain I know what I want to say but I’m sure I’ll forget something.”

“Well, the scientist in me took the liberty of jotting a few points down. Is that alright?”

Oswald nodded, folding his hands in his lap and turning fully to face Jeremiah on the couch. For this exercise they were sat literally at opposite ends of the sofa to ensure Oswald wouldn’t feel caged in. It was up to him to move closer.

“Alright. Now I’ve said that I have very few limits of my own, which is why this is so important. Knowing your limits will ensure I don't get carried away. I’ll go first and get mine out of the way. First and most important: no threesomes, multiplayer or swaps. This is an exclusive arrangement between the two of us. I don’t share and  _no one_ is to touch you but me. Period.”

“Understood and agreed." Oswald risked Jeremiah's ire with his next comment. "But, I’m wondering. You said your previous sub was married...”

"Let's say I learned my lesson. It wasn't ideal and I won't be someone's second choice again." A petulant tone robbed some of the neutrality from Jeremiah's voice, and he took a deep breath to get back into the right frame of mind for the discussion. "Anyway. I’m not into bodily waste products so no water sports or scat - I wouldn’t dream of incorporating them as a humiliation tactic.”

“Thank God!” Oswald agreed without reservation. Jeremiah smiled but was obviously relieved by Oswald's reaction.

“I had a feeling that was one of your hard limits as well when I asked you about humiliation and you said ‘it depends.’ I’m glad because no matter how close we become, I just can’t go there. If there happens to be an accident - that’s different. You’ll get appropriate punishment but it wouldn't be a deal breaker." Oswald again nodded. "Right. So basically anything else is on the table, within your own stated limits - or what I perceive your limits to be. For example, if you want me to, I don't know...choke you and you ask me to squeeze too hard or for too long or in the wrong place - I reserve the right to deny it. In a similar fashion, it means anything else is on the table if I ask you to do something to _me._  Again, unless it is outside of your own limits or what you think is safe.”

“You...you’d ask me to do something to _you_? Like what?” The look of astonishment on Oswald's face almost made Jeremiah giggle. 

“Hard to say right now. Knife play, probably. Wrist restraints. Candle wax. I have a high tolerance for pain. It would depend on the scene and how we’re both feeling. Would you be comfortable with that?”

“Other than sex, I’d never been asked to _play_ with my Dom. I understood that was their role. My two Doms were both very different but neither ever asked to switch up in any way.”

“It might not be often and I'd never asked my previous sub, but I have a fantasy or two that I think I might trust you to fulfill for me. Maybe it could be thought of as performing a service...”

“I would be honored. As long as you are clear in your guidance, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah paused when heard his phone buzz, but ignored it. “Yes. I’ll be very clear. So, shall we address _your_ hard limits?”

“Yes. Your two, definitely. Also, I do not want any kind of drowning simulation. In the attempts made on my life, I’ve already almost drowned twice in the Gotham river. I will not get any sort of pleasure from play drowning and I ask that you respect that. Taking a bath is the closest I'll ever voluntarily get to being submerged in a body of water if I can help it."

Jeremiah made a notation on his paper. “Not a problem. It never even occurred to me, but I guess waterboarding is a thing. Duly noted.”

“I know I told you no metal handcuffs. But I suppose that’s not a _hard_ limit. I might agree to it sometime.”

“Hmm. I appreciate knowing that. Things can change over time, so I’ll check in with you ahead of time if I wanted to try it - or anything that's metal, for that matter.”

Oswald further relaxed. He’d never imagined a conversation quite as in depth and with such consideration as this.

“Thanks, Jeremiah. Is...is this normal?"

The guffaw from Jeremiah almost made him laugh as well. "Ozzie. I doubt there's _anything_ normal about me. But, if you mean the conversation? I should think so. Maybe not as disciplined or detailed as this - it's the engineer in me, I guess. I like structure. But there should always be some kind of upfront agreement before getting serious about play. Especially since there may be an element of violence, no matter how consensual."

The man got up and refilled their cups with the last of the tea.

“Sorry, it’s probably not very hot now. Do you want me to microwave yours?”

“No. But shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I’m trying to be mindful of your equal footing in this relationship. You're not my personal slave.”

Oswald nodded, contemplating the words. Equal footing. But being a slave? That was something he hadn’t thought about. But right now, he wanted to get to the rules rather than keep discussing limits.

But Jeremiah wasn't quite done yet.

“So, you told me you want me to hit you. I’ll admit, I was a little taken aback by that. I’m happy to flog, cane, or whip you but I honestly don’t want to use my fists. Well," he amended with a wink, "not for punching, at least. Did you have something specific in mind?”

“The slap you gave me was perfect. I don’t actually want you to punch me. I guess I could have been clearer. You can shove me, push me down, bite, smack or slap me in fleshy areas. Spanking would probably be okay - I don’t have any bad memories that would be triggered. My saintly mother didn’t spank me past toddler years. But no, no fist fights nor kicks to the kidneys. I get enough of that from my enemies.”

“Oh, that’s better. Thanks for clearing that up. So, do you have an aversion to any of these: orgasm denial, sounding, rope bondage, gags, blindfolds, role play, sensory deprivation? And since it just came up in a roundabout way, fisting?”

“Oh. Wow.” Oswald played back what he heard. “No aversion per se...no, except, wait... _sounding_? Is that the, a glass rod…”

“Can be glass or other material. It's a thin rod inserted into your urethra. I’ve tried it on myself, actually. Very intense. I’m sure it’s even better with someone I trust - I might want you do it for me now that I think about it. I’ll have to put that on my to-do list,” he teased and Oswald gave a breathless giggle in response.

“No aversion to trying any of those at this point. Although - would you make a fist please?" Jeremiah smiled slyly and complied. Oswald literally shivered. "Not sure about _that_ but, I guess I won't rule it out. And I’ve had my wrists bound with rope, but I take it you mean something more involved.” At Jeremiah’s nod, he agreed. “Okay. I still get to use my safeword with any of these?”

“ _Always._  That’s always our cease-and-desist method. If for some reason you can’t speak, like if you’re gagged? We’ll determine a gesture ahead of time. You will always be able to end the scene. But remember that saying ‘no’ or ‘stop’ won’t do it. It’s too easy for those to slip out when you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Alright. I’m good with all of this. Can we get to the rules please?”

Jeremiah watched in amusement as Oswald scooted closer. “Eager, are we? Believe me, I would like to get all this out of the way, too. Alright, so I did mention previously that I personally had a couple of kinks.”

“Oh my God, yes. I should have asked you…”

“No, not at all,” Jeremiah assured him. “I wouldn’t have expected you to remember that, and it’s really up to me to raise it. Just in case any of them fall into your hard limits. Which, I really hope isn’t the case. You just agreed you didn’t have a particular aversion to sensory deprivation. I will want to incorporate that into our play. Have you experienced it?”

“Not completely. Yes, blindfolded and yes, gagged - at separate times. But…”

“This would be both. Along with noise cancelling headphones or earplugs and bound wrists and ankles.”

The look on Oswald’s face was priceless.

“Not tonight, Ozzie,” Jeremiah laughed, “I promise. I’ll ease you into it. It’s seriously a lot of fun.”

“Ooookay…I’m game, I guess. What else?”

“I should have said this much earlier. I have a semen fetish.”

”That’s a thing?

“I guess? I’ve not seen much about it, but it is for me. Oh, and a bit of an oral fixation. I’ve always felt this way, but you _really_ bring it out of me. I didn’t even tongue kiss you until the other day because I knew if I did, I’d be unable to keep my mouth away from you. I’m probably going to annoy you to death with how much I kiss and lick you. And obviously, bite and suck bruises into you. I get off on marking my territory.”

Oswald blushed all the way down to his toes but stared with fascination at the pale man.

“Even before I got into BDSM, I needed to at least mark my lovers with my ejaculate. Perhaps you noticed?”

“Uh, yes? You mean the cum shot to the face that sent me over the edge?”

Jeremiah nodded his head, smiling coyly. “Yes. That. I was so glad you weren't put off by it. I didn’t do it to degrade you at all...”

Penguin cut in, “I didn’t feel that way. It felt like you were telling me I...” he paused, watching Jeremiah smile and nod slightly. “I belonged to you.”

“Yes, exactly. I’m so glad you saw it that way. You’ll also remember I shared a little of it with you in a kiss.” He stage whispered for effect, “I’m an absolute cum slut.”

“No. I don’t... really?” _Oh my God, he’s way more bent than I am!_

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a peculiar kink for someone like me, right? As fussy as I am in my daily habits, cum, specifically during sex, is one thing I'm positively undone by." He spoke more quickly, clearly excited by the topic. "It's ritualistic. Marking my lover _anywhere_ with my seed? Hot. Combining our release?  _Unbelievably_ hot. Giving my lover an orgasm, almost better than having one myself - though I might make you wait a long time. And of course, not just seeing one or both of us cum, but tasting it. It might seem a little debasing for a control freak like me but I'll happily go down on you and swallow every drop and I’ll rarely hesitate to clean you up with my tongue, inside and out after fucking.” Jeremiah actually groaned and closed his eyes.

Oswald was stunned and could only hiss, “ _Fuck_.” 

“And if I don’t eat you out, well then you’ll get plugged so you have to hold my cum in. Preferably for as long as possible! I'm sure it has to do with ownership. Or maybe it’s my way of displaying my virility to the Universe.  It's...it's just my thing.” He shrugged and thankfully had enough self-awareness to look abashed by Oswald's wide eyed expression. 

“You’re extraordinarily honest about how filthy you are!”

He sighed. “If I could blush, I would. I am what I am. Hopefully it’s not too much of a turn-off. If it is, I’ll try to tone it down.”

“No. Not even a little, Jeremiah,” Oswald said, shakily. “I’m surprised. Really, _really_ surprised,” he chuckled, not unkindly. “I like it. You're so much more sexual than I ever imagined. You’re very...interesting.”

"A psychiatrist would have a field day, I'm sure." With a small, crooked smile, the pale man relaxed against the couch cushions. “I know I come across as a cold fish but...”

Oswald tucked himself into the pale man’s  side. “...You’re a man of hidden depths.”

“I like that. Yes. Okay, so any kinks of _yours_ I should know about?"

"Well. What did you call me at our first private meeting? A size queen? There’s that. I love praise. Yet contrary to that I enjoy a certain amount of humiliation and verbal abuse. I like some pain though I'm not sure I can identify why. Light air restriction. A good vibrator is also always welcome, but it will never replace a nice, thick...er, manhood," he managed. After all these revelations, Oswald didn't even blush at that last bit. 

"That's a good start. Just tell me whenever you think of something you want. Now, onto those rules. I’m exhausted from all this t...”

"Oh, wait!" If he didn't throw it out there now when he had some confidence, he might never.

Jeremiah cocked his head to the left and waited.

"I...um. I've always wanted to...Well, I actually _do_. When I'm alone. But. Not out on business, just in case something happens to me..."

Knowing that interrupting or even asking questions might shut down the conversation, Jeremiah sat quietly and let the smaller man speak. Oswald was clearly struggling with something and Jeremiah wanted to make sure he felt safe enough to share it. He squeezed Oswald's shoulder in encouragement.

"Lingerie." Penguin blurted out. "I like lingerie. I won't even call it 'women's undergarments' because I don't think they should be limited to women. Panties. Tap pants. Boy shorts. Sometimes teddies. They're beautiful, and soft, and...Ilikethewaytheyfeel." He closed his eyes in a panic and waited for the ridiculing laugh or even a goodnatured chuckle. Instead, he felt warm breath on his cheek and a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, Ozzie," Jeremiah whispered. "I'm grateful you'd share something so important to you." He kissed along Oswald's jaw and hungrily pressed his mouth just below his ear. "God, I hope you'll wear something like that for me. I love the idea of it. I'm sure you're stunning in silk and lace."

This time, Oswald wasn't worried about tearing up; he let a few of teardrops slip out from under his lashes as he hugged Jeremiah's neck. He'd told no one before. Not Ed. Not Jerome. Not even Ivy. It had been his dirty little secret. 

Now it felt like a badge of honor.

”I know we’re not done here, but I really want you to make love to me. Please?”

“Jesus, Oz, you’re going to be the death of me,” Jeremiah groaned, gently pushing him onto his back as Oswald drew him into a fiercely possessive kiss. 

“This,” the pale man pulled back, breath stuttering, “isn’t quite part of the plan for tonight.”

”Fuck the plan.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald asks for a little lovin' - causing Jeremiah to go off script and give in. After their afternoon delight, there's more evidence than ever that they are quite compatible - but the true test will come in the "playroom" later that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex and felching, added to the tags. 
> 
> Chapter 16 will continue their evening as they end up in the playroom for the first time.

 

 

>   _”I know we’re not done here, but I really want you to make love to me. Please?”_
> 
> _“Jesus, Oz, you’re going to be the death of me,” Jeremiah groaned, gently pushing him onto his back as Oswald drew him into a fiercely possessive kiss._  
>    
>  _“This,” the pale man pulled back, breath stuttering, “isn’t quite part of the plan for tonight.”_ _  
> _ _  
> _ ”Fuck the plan.”

 

Well, so much for best laid plans. It seemed visiting the playroom would have to wait just a little longer.

Oswald meanwhile had already undone Jeremiah’s tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, pushing his hips up to encourage Jeremiah to either dry hump him or get the hell up and help get their clothes off.

Even while he tried to catch his breath, Jeremiah started laughing - not a crazy cackle, but genuine belly laugh. “What the hell, Oswald? Just what I needed, a bossy bottom!”

“Did you expect anything else?” Oswald fluttered his eyelashes and smiled innocently.

Still laughing, Jeremiah shook his head. “No. No, I really didn’t, Penguin.” He slid off Oswald and sat on the edge of the couch. “Come on. Up. Clothes off.”

“Ooh. So romantic!”

“Hush.”

Oswald stood and soon had his shoes, tie and shirt off, faster than Jeremiah could even finish unbuttoning his own shirt. Jeremiah tugged him back to the couch by the buckle and opened his belt but Oswald amused him by playfully smacking his hands away before he could finish.

“Hey! We’re not in a scene. I can handle it,” he smirked, watching Jeremiah’s pupils dilate when Oswald slid his pants down over his hips. He was feeling pretty confident at this point, and continued removing socks and undershirt until he was just in royal blue silk boxers. But he faltered at the serious look of concentration on Jeremiah’s face where he was still sitting on the couch.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“God, no. You’re just beautiful.” He gestured for Oswald to come closer and made to take the boxers down, waiting for Oswald’s nod. He didn’t want to get his hand slapped again. _Scene or no scene, I might just have to give him a little taste of punishment for that later._

“You have way too many clothes on,” Oswald said in a low voice.

Jeremiah nodded absently, sliding the boxers down and inhaling sharply at the sight of Oswald’s erection. Oswald stepped out of them while Jeremiah gently rubbed his palm up over the organ with a sort of reverence.

“For such a petite man, I knew you were packing a good sized surprise. It's lovely.” He bent forward and, true to his ‘oral fixation’ confession, immediately lapped at the reddened, leaking head. Oswald trembled, quickly putting his hands on Jeremiah’s shoulders and pushed at him before he could consider sucking him.

“Clothes, Jeremiah.”

“So pushy when you’re not submitting.” He shoved his shirt off, kicked off his shoes, and lifted his butt to just push his now open pants down rather than remove them. “Get on. Oh, Christ. The lube is in the playroom.”

With his legs astride Jeremiah’s waist and resting on the couch Oswald had little pressure on his bad knee.

“No need. Just…”

“I don’t want to hurt you the first…”

Oswald ignored him and took Jeremiah’s impressive cock in hand and jacked him a couple of times, cutting off his words and dragging a moan from him.

“Get in me,” he hissed.

The pale man was starting to visibly sweat so he guided his cock, with Oswald’s hand still wrapped around it, between the smaller man’s legs. He reached behind Oswald with his other hand to at least probe his hole with his fingers - and let out a surprised sound that was a cross between a growl and a whine.

“You’ve been sitting here all this time, already prepped?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Mmm hmm,” he nodded proudly. “Did you think this was amateur hour?”

“ _Fuck_.”

“Please. And skip the fingers.”

Jeremiah worked himself into the lubed hole, grunting at the unbelievable sensation. “So fucking tight, Ozzie.”

“Not really.” Oswald pressed on Jeremiah’s shoulders to lift himself up and drop down onto the thick member. “We’re just trying to shove a baseball bat into a pencil holder.”

Jeremiah laughed on a gasp. “What a comedian. Ohhh, that’s it,” he panted, moving his fingers around the opening where the two men were connected to stretch Oswald a little more as he pushed in further. “Almost in.” He pressed his face against Oswald’s neck and jerked his hips a couple of times until he was finally balls-deep and Oswald keened.

The smaller man draped his arms around Jeremiah’s neck and bounced his ass in time with Jeremiah’s thrusting hips.

“Okay?” Jeremiah huffed, and darted his tongue into Oswald’s ear and bit the lobe in response to his frantic nod.

They were both so horny after their afternoon of sex talk that this wasn’t going to take long at all - but it would get the “first” fuck out of the way so they could focus later that evening on the power play dynamic instead of getting all caught up in the newness of sex with each other. Jeremiah wished he’d thought of it himself, but he’d been so single minded he’d given little thought to anything apart from talking everything through before moving things to the playroom.

Jeremiah angled his hips and adjusted Oswald, hands under his thighs until he got exactly the sound out of him he was hoping for. Thrusting as hard and consistently as possible in this position, he finally hit Oswald’s prostate dead on as the other man’s moans turned into a higher pitched cry.

Oswald wound his fingers into Jeremiah’s thick hair and started to shake. Between the battering ram in his ass and his dick bouncing against Jeremiah’s stomach, he didn’t think he could hold back much longer. “Please,” he whispered, “Jeremiah… Just…”

“Yes,” the pale man panted, feeling Oswald’s muscles tensing. “Cum for me.” He pushed a hand in between them to stroke Oswald’s cock. “Let me have it.”

“Ugh, fuck,” Oswald groaned, holding onto Jeremiah’s neck as he fell apart and his warm release pulsed out against their stomachs and down Jeremiah’s hand.

Jeremiah was barely able to last for another 2 or 3 thrusts, following right after and shooting his load into Oswald’s ass with a hard gasp and full body shudder.

After a moment or two of blissful stillness, Jeremiah nuzzled Oswald’s cheek. “Hey. You okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Alright, hold on.”

“I am.”

“No, I mean _hold on_ because I’m going to stand up.”

Oswald squeaked and wrapped his legs around Jeremiah who stood and leaned over the arm of the couch to lay Oswald back and slowly pull out of him.

“Sorry…” he murmured at Oswald’s mewl of protest.

He arranged Oswald’s legs so his knees were over the armrest and his calves dangling. Quickly pulling up his pants, Jeremiah grabbed his shirt off the floor and gave his own stomach a wipe down before sliding the shirt under Oswald’s butt. (The couch was leather so he wasn’t terribly worried.)

“Excuse me, why are you manhandling me?” Oswald muttered curiously, clearly enjoying being positioned like a rag doll.

“You have something I want, don’t you?” Jeremiah then took the throw pillows and put one under Oswald’s head, who looked at him like he was completely nuts, and the other on the floor in front of the couch where he kneeled on it.

“What are you…”

Then a finger playfully ran through the mess on Oswald’s belly.

“Ohhh. Tricky.”

Jeremiah smirked and licked the cum off his finger before leaning in and lapping at Oswald’s skin. The other man gasped at the feeling and then giggled.

“Hmm. Ticklish?” Jeremiah asked, flicking his eyes over at Oswald’s face, before returning his lips and tongue to the planes of the smaller man’s abdomen.

“Little bit. Oh, that’s…” He watched for a moment and then threaded his fingers into Jeremiah’s hair and pulled lightly. “... _hot_. Kiss me?”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mmm hmm.”

As Jeremiah moved over to kiss him, Oswald swiped a finger across his own stomach and offered it to him. The pale man’s silvery green eyes lit up. He grasped Oswald’s wrist and wrapped ruby lips around the digit, sucking happily before licking into Oswald’s mouth and kissing him deeply.

After Oswald moaned at the salty, somewhat bitter flavor, Jeremiah backed up and said sternly, “And just what have you done to my hair?”

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Oswald shrugged. “It’s a little more casual than usual.”

“Casual, eh?” He nodded to himself and got up, moving the pillow to the floor next to the arm of the sofa. “Ready?”

“For?” A wet squelching sound as a long finger slipped into his hole was the answer he got. “You really _are_ kinky aren’t you?” he said in mild astonishment, even though they'd talked about this not 30 minutes ago.

“That’s me. Oh, by the way, this is all the proof we need that you’re mine.”  He held up the wet finger for Oswald to see before licking it clean and then pulling Oswald’s thighs upward so he could get his face in close.

“Why am I suddenly really turned on by such a vulgar display?” Oswald murmured to himself, loud enough to get a chuckle out of Jeremiah.

He nipped and sucked at Oswald’s inner thighs, making sure to work at it just long enough to create light bruises that would ache later that night. With Oswald relaxed and making happy sounds at the marking of his thighs, the pale man moved up and slid his tongue into Oswald’s slick, still-loose hole.

Oswald’s eyes flew open at the feeling and he felt the flush creep across his face. He’d been rimmed a few times, but this was totally different. An obscene slurping sound accompanied the sensation of having cum literally sucked out of his ass. It actually felt pretty good and his dick twitched in interest.

“So, I bet you do this with all the boys,” Oswald teased, just to see what Jeremiah would do. He got an answer pretty quickly when Jeremiah withdrew and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Only my last sub and not often. He wasn’t crazy about it.” He paused. “You very obviously took great pains to be ready to play today - thank you - and you taste heavenly. So I really hope you don’t _hate_ this.”

“No.” Oswald lifted his head to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. “it’s going to take a little getting used to, but only because I’m embarrassed not because it’s uncomfortable. Oh my God, I thought you’re lips were red before - you should see them now. You’re prettier than a runway model and twice as sexy with your hair all mussed up and saliva on your chin.”

“Gee, thanks!” He laughed. “Okay." He stood up and stretched his legs. "You’ve had enough recovery time and as much as I enjoyed this, I’m hungry for _real_ food. So time for us to get cleaned up and for me to get our dinner.”  Unceremoniously, he came around and hoisted Oswald into a fireman’s carry over his shoulder, heading into the bedroom.

“I’m not a sack of potatoes!” Penguin protested feebly as he was dumped onto a beach towel that was laid over the satin comforter in advance of the evening’s activities.

Jeremiah got undressed while Oswald stared in appreciation at his long legs and all that naked white skin. With no inhibitions at all, Jeremiah washed up with a warm washcloth while Oswald watched from the bed. “I’ll get you a robe - no need to put clothes back on. You’re welcome to get freshened up, of course. I’m going to see about dinner. Nothing major, just light fare like soup and some crusty bread. No booze. Sound alright?”

“Yes. What kind of soup?”

“I should have asked you in advance, I suppose. Escarole orzo with turkey meatballs. It’s in a chicken broth.”

“Excellent. Where are you ordering…”

“It’s already in the kitchen. Just need to reheat it and bring it all up. So, relax for a little bit, then we can eat, finish our discussion and move onto the main event. If you’re still game?”

“Do I look exhausted to you?” Penguin dipped his chin toward his half-hard cock.

“Not a bit, gorgeous,” he smiled over his shoulder as he tugged on a plush black and red bathrobe and tried to finger comb his hair in place. He handed Oswald a soft purple and gold paisley dressing gown. “Here. This one looks like it would suit.” He pressed a kiss to Oswald’s temple and slipped out to the living area to collect their discarded clothing and grab his phone.

“Hi. Yes, now is a good time. Should I come down to get it? Even better. A cart is great. Thanks, I appreciate it. Water and iced tea, I think. I don’t know how he takes it, so bring some sugar. See you in 10 minutes or so.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rules are set and the time has come. Jeremiah takes Oswald on a tour of their new playroom and the scene unfolds. But things between our boys take a turn for the unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playroom scene is much more than one chapter now - the rest will be posted shortly, so consider this the introduction.

Dinner was a quiet, relaxing affair. Simple soup, French bread, unsweetened iced tea and water, and a bowl of assorted berries for dessert. Nervous for the evening to come, Oswald wasn’t all that hungry so he ate slowly and filled up quickly.  
  
After dining, small talk, and a chat about how Oswald might help Jeremiah with a bank heist, the two made their way back to the sofa. Jeremiah teased about how long the dressing gown hung on Oswald - even with the belt tied - and Oswald rolled his eyes and muttered something about giants taking over Gotham.  
  
“So, my pretty little Penguin. We had a most enlightening discussion earlier but we skipped one important topic.”  
  
“Yes. 'The Rules of Engagement'.” Oswald said petulantly, using air quotes around the words.  
  
“Is there an issue with establishing rules for our relationship?”  
  
“No, of course not. I just sense I won’t like all the rules.”  
  
“Well, we’ll talk about them and if there is no good reason for a rule, we’ll negotiate it into something else, fair?”  
  
Oswald nodded. “No touching you in public,” he stated dully. “Is that rule number one?”  
  
“So that's what's bothering you. Okay. The rules aren’t in any order but yes, don’t touch me apart from a handshake in front of others. It’s not really about me asserting my dominance though there’s some of that too.” Oswald scoffed but Jeremiah continued in a pleasant tone. “Listen. I know all you did was press your hand against mine, but your proximity is already arousing enough - I don’t need to walk around with an erection every time we’re doing business together. We won’t always have the luxury of sending our people out of the room for a quick canoodle.”  
  
“I hate the word canoodle."  
  
Jeremiah giggled. Actually giggled. "Would you prefer 'rub and tug'?"  
  
Ignoring that, Oswald snidely asked, "Was your last sub forbidden to touch you in public?”  
  
“No need to be salty, Oswald. He was my professor - of course we didn’t touch each other in public. I wasn’t looking to get him fired or me expelled. But it wasn’t a rule. It was common sense. These rules are for _us_ not anyone else. I’m simply being practical.”  
  
“Sorry,” he murmured.  
  
His red lips curled into an understanding smile. “It’s fine. Just let me initiate the touching when we’re out with others. Then you can follow my lead.  
  
“So, rules for when we’re in a scene: Always address me with Sir for the short term at least since you’ve already used it in this context. You will be unclothed, ready and waiting in your starting posture: some kneeling variation we decide on that puts less pressure on your leg. I want eye contact to the extent possible unless I expressly forbid you to look at me. No raising your hand to me unless we’ve worked out ahead of time that I want you to hit me. You’re not to cum unless I give you permission. You will obey all my requests without backtalk or whining. Lastly, you are putting your complete trust in me not to go beyond your limits. I'll check with you frequently _but I’m also trusting you_ and that means you must use traffic colors to let me know where your your head is at, or safeword out. Break a rule and you’ll be punished. But when punishment is over, there is no need for apologies. It’s finished and forgiven.”  
  
Oswald committed the handful of rules to memory and summarized.  
  
“Right, so. Use your Title. Nude and kneeling. Eye contact. No raising a hand in anger. No cumming. Obey. Trust. So, seven?”  
  
“Seven within a scene. For now. We’ll play it by ear. Oh, and one more if I need to say it: we don’t skip aftercare no matter how floaty or peppy you’re feeling. You need to be fully grounded or you don’t leave my sight.”  
  
"Thank you. I think it’s implied; I’m not about to discourage you from taking care of me - especially with how wonderful you were with me the other day. So, what is the punishment for breaking a rule?"  
  
"See, that depends. If I say, for example, that a spanking is your punishment but spanking is something you get off on? No. That's not helpful to correct your behavior. Maybe doing the dishes for my thugs would be a good punishment," he chuckled. "We'll have to see. But again, when punishment is over, it's over. Let it go and know that all is well."  
  
"Hmm, that sounds fair. May I speak? Within a scene, I mean.”  
  
“Absolutely. I want feedback. Unless I specifically order you to be silent. And by all means, make noise,” he smirked. “Be as loud as you want.  
  
“Now, setting rules for outside of a scene is more complicated. We talked about the no-touching. Don’t call me Sir in front of others and do not call anyone _else_ Sir in front of me. No disrespectful gestures. Even though we’re not in a scene, I won’t tolerate disrespectful displays including raising a hand to me. Getting into a healthy debate is fine, we’re human and we’ll probably say things we don’t mean if we're arguing but no crossing the line. Lastly, we shouldn’t broadcast what we are to each other. Much like Martin can be used against you...you can be used against me and vice versa. I won’t put you at risk like that.”  
  
“Yes, I suppose that’s sensible. I don’t like it, but you’re right.”  
  
“And of course, any punishment will be discussed and decided on a case by case basis. Agreed?”  
  
“Yes. But what ‘real world’ rules do _I_ get to make?” Oswald complained. “You’ve got four: I don’t initiate touching, no using your title, no raising my hand to you, no telling others that we’re together…”  
  
“No telling others that we’re _Dom_ and _sub_ . And that rule is for both of us. We don’t need to deny that we’re lovers; I just don’t want the _depth_ of the relationship known except to the rare person we both can trust.”  
  
Jeremiah took in Oswald’s pinched expression. “So, what rules do you want for yourself, Oswald? You seem troubled.”  
  
The smaller man sighed. “I don’t know. I just need to feel like I have some influence on our relationship outside of play. How about, Martin comes first in my life?”  
  
Rolling his head side to side in contemplation, Jeremiah eventually relented. “Yes, I can agree to that. After all, I learned my lesson about coming between you. He should come first. As long as I’m still on your VIP list.”  
  
Oswald smiled, relieved that he’d actually been heard. “Of course! Martin comes first and then you. There’s no one else that has more priority in my life now.”  
  
“Alright, thank you. Anything else? If you can’t think of anything now, you can always bring it up outside of play. We can revise the rules as needed.”  
  
“Just...We do our best to protect each other; look out for each other’s best interest.”  
  
“Yes, of course. I would naturally want to protect you. Not only as my submissive but as my friend. I’m thrilled to know you want to do the same.”  
  
“Indeed. I do. Thank you.” Oswald’s ruffled manner slipped away, replaced by a sense of trust and acceptance.  
  
“Now..." Jeremiah made a show of looking at his watch. "Time for a little tour of our playroom. And then when we’re ready - let the games begin."  
  
***  
  
After he’d relieved himself (which didn’t help chase the butterflies in his stomach) Oswald waited patiently as Jeremiah disappeared into the bedroom for a few minutes. When he returned he was in a pair of matte black skinny pants that left Oswald’s mouth hanging open. The pants didn’t have the usual zipper fly in the center. Instead, there were two zippers framing either side of the crotch area, and the resulting form-fitting panel covering his package left very little to the imagination. That visual with all that white skin and the fact that he had nothing else on but some red lipstick seemed to distract Oswald well enough to forget his nervous belly.   
  
When the door to the playroom was opened, Oswald inhaled sharply. He didn't know what he was expecting, but this was not it. Of course, with Jeremiah's personality, he wouldn't have just thrown a mattress and a whip in a closet. As hastily as it was put together, the playroom was more than adequate.  
  
"Luckily, the walls were already gray. I'd wanted to change them to red or black, but with not knowing how soon we would use the room I didn't want an unpleasant paint aroma lingering."  
  
Oswald sniffed. "It smells quite nice. Subtle.”  
  
"Incense. I used a red cedar and frankincense blend for a couple of hours. I’m not much for hocus pocus like smudging but the room was stale and previously used for who knows what. Have a look around but no touching."  
  
The space had been a large storage room and was about 200 square feet, the size of a typical guest bedroom or large workout room. There was nothing fancy about the decor, but everything had a purpose.  
  
Attached to the left wall was a St. Andrew’s Cross, a piece of equipment in shape of an X to which a person could be restrained spread-eagle. Oswald was familiar with it and glad to see something he recognized straight away. A padded spanking bench was directly opposite resembling a sawhorse or gymnastics pommel horse. A wall rack next to the X-cross held various flogging implements: riding crop, whips, cane, cat o' nine tails, a paddle, even a standard wooden kitchen spoon. In the back left corner was a thin padded mat and in the right corner was a black cushioned loveseat with a cozy-looking blanket draped over the back, a mini fridge next to it and a small ceiling fan above it. A queen size bed took up the right center of the room, outfitted with leather cuffs at several places along the headboard, footboard and frame. A shelf on the wall between the bed and the door held small items like blindfolds, masks, and ticklers and a wooden storage chest sat on the floor beneath it. Oswald had chills just imagining what might be inside.  
  
”Questions?”  
  
Oswald shook his head.

“We’ll talk the scene through before starting.” After Jeremiah shut the door, he bent close to Oswald and whispered, “you know what to do.”

Oswald shuddered and watched Jeremiah walk to the back left corner and wait by the padded mat. He took a moment to collect himself before removing his dressing gown and hanging it on a wall hook. He slowly limped to the mat where he knelt with his back to the door, posture straight, hands behind his neck. His mind was in a state of flux - half excited, half apprehensive - and his partial arousal bore that out. But he wasn't surprised and neither was Jeremiah.

“I want you to try something for me,” Jeremiah said quietly. “Sit back on your heels and spread your thighs more. Toes bent or under, which ever is more comfortable. You can use your hands to get balanced. Shoulders back and box your arms behind you.”

Oswald did as he was asked and got as comfortable as possible, with Jeremiah helping to shift him into place. There was a little less pressure on his bad leg with his hips down like this, like when he gave Jeremiah the blow job the other day. His arms felt okay, hands grasping the opposite forearm as close to the elbow as he could get. Like crossing your arms in reverse. He'd never tried that before but it was far less strain than behind his neck. Jeremiah coaxed him to relax his back or leave it straight, whichever was better.

“Thank you, this could work. Sir.”

“Good. We’ll further modify as needed. For now let's call this your attention posture. This is how I'll expect to see you when I arrive for a scene. Now drop your arms and re-position your hands behind the small of your back." And with that request, Oswald’s wrists were bound together with soft leather cuffs. “They’re Velcro so you can get out of them in an emergency. But most of the other restraints in this room do lock - and I have the key.” He slipped his pinky under the cuff. “Not too tight?”

“No, Sir.” Oswald murmured. “Just right.” 

“We’re going to play on the St. Andrew’s Cross later. You’re familiar?” Oswald nodded, feeling his cock finally twitch with interest. “I won’t be too rough for our first outing and I’ll describe what we’ll do shortly. But there’s something we need to take care of first, which is the reason for the cuffs.” Jeremiah sighed, sounding put-out and disappointed.

“Pet, we just outlined rules for both play and real world. But you did something earlier this afternoon that broke one of the rules.”

Oswald visibly tensed. “But...we _just_ set those rules. _Sir_ ,” he tacked on, panicked. His partial arousal immediately began to wilt from the unexpected stress.

“Yes. We did. But one of the rules is on both lists; it’s _that_ important to me. It is also common sense, which is why your actions surprised me. Think back.”

“I..." Oswald's mind went blank. "I don’t remember doing anything wrong!”

“Think," he said coldly. After a long pause he added, "I’ll wait.”

The room was silent but for Oswald’s heavy breathing.

“Sir. Uh...on both lists? I’ll go through the shorter list. Out loud?” Jeremiah made a non-committal noise.

“Rr...real world. Nuh...no touching in public,” his voice got steadier as he recalled the rules. “Don’t call you Sir in public, don’t raise a hand to you in anger, don't let...”

“No.” Jeremiah interrupted. “No, you embellished. Repeat that last one leaving off two words.”

“Don’t...what? Don't raise a hand to you? But when did I do that? I didn’t…”

“Think carefully, boy.”

Oswald’s mind raced; all he could remember was the amazing sex they’d had. He didn’t think he’d hit Jeremiah, did he? He started to replay the afternoon. Getting there and having tea. Talking through their kinks, basically undressing each other before they... and suddenly he gasped tellingly.

“What was that? Speak up. You don’t want me to lose my patience.”

“I smacked your hands away when you tried to help me open my pants! But I was just playing! Teasing you! And we weren’t in a scene or in public.”

“They are _real world_ rules, Oswald, not public rules. And I should think it’s common sense that you never strike your Dominant, even in jest. I didn’t make a fuss because I knew you were playing and caught up in the heat of the moment. But the fact remains that it happened and there is punishment for that action.”

“Noooo,” Oswald pleaded tearfully. “I’m sorry, Sir!”

“Stop. I know you are sorry. And so you get to choose: will you take your punishment now and get it over with, or will you try to enjoy the scene with constant worry about when the punishment will occur?”

Oswald remained silent, disconsolate. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. What had made him _do_ that? He'd never been so assertive with a partner before, even though it was relaxed and in fun. He'd just been so horny and so comfortable with Jeremiah. His mind drifted, berating himself and trying to postpone the inevitable.

“Answer me!”

“ _Now_ , Sir,” he choked out. “I'll take it now. I _am_ sorry, Sir.”  

“Yes. You are. Your sincerity is the reason I'm not going to inflict physical pain on you. This time.” He walked away and squatted next to Oswald when he returned. “Blindfold. Hold still.”

Oswald made a sad noise of protest but complied as the black suede eye covering was slipped over his head and maneuvered into place. The inner facing was a soft, non-irritating fabric but it was total black-out, full coverage.

"Keep your posture, please."

“What’s going to happen?” the bound man squeaked.

“It requires nothing of you. We will use the blindfold along with these ear plugs I brought over.” He clicked the outer plastic ends between his fingers near Oswald’s ear for effect. “Then, quite simply...I leave.”

“Leave? _What?_ Why?”

“The punishment is that I’m removing my presence from you. You will stay right here and think about what you did and how you displeased me - even though I chose not to interrupt our lovemaking at the time to chastise you. Be glad I waited until now and that this is the only consequence. Keep in mind this is an inconvenience to me as well as to you. I had been looking forward to our play and now it's temporarily on hold.”

He gently inserted one earplug and Oswald whispered, wet tears leaking out from behind the blindfold, “How long will you be gone, Sir?”

“Long enough.”

He inserted the other earplug and headed back to the door. He made a show of opening and closing the door loud enough that Oswald might hear it through the plugs but instead of leaving, he silently padded diagonally across the room and sat on the loveseat. This placement gave him an unobstructed view to watch over his sub in case of distress. He didn’t know if Oswald was prone to panic attacks, but he had a feeling this separation might be more punishment than a few strikes of the whip would have been. For both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW link - the leather pants Jeremiah wears can be seen here: https://www.mr-s-leather.com/leather/leather-pants-leather-chaps/german-carpenter-pants


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A needed apology leads to new experiences together as our boys explore Oswald’s limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read all the way to the bottom for a special NSFW treat from a fellow AO3'er! 
> 
> All previous warnings apply.

Darkness and silence.

They were often comforting to Oswald Cobblepot but right now they were oppressive.

This wasn’t what he’d wanted tonight! He had wanted attention and affection in all the ways he could best appreciate them; the kinds of attention and affection a powerful personality like Jeremiah Valeska could give him.

But what he had gotten was isolation. Not that he didn’t - _maybe_ \- deserve it. He wasn’t exactly sure. But he didn’t like it one bit.

Oswald tried to calm down but he was torn between anger and misery. Tears still trekked down his cheeks from when the blindfold had been slipped in place and he trembled with the difficulty of holding back a sob.

Not that it mattered; who would hear him cry anyway?

Once he considered his predicament he became irrationally afraid. What if Jeremiah was ambushed and killed? If he never came back, no one would know Oswald was here and he’d die in this room! Or what if someone did find him and photographed and blackmailed him? Or killed him for sport?

After ruminating on these unlikely outcomes, the real fear surfaced: his insecurities. Brought on by the lack of sight, sound, and touch, Oswald could only focus on his own shortcomings. He let out a pitiful sob. Was he not adequate for Jeremiah? Too weak? Too skinny?  Too unattractive? Too ambitious? Too, what was it, _disrespectful_? He couldn’t believe he’d ruined everything so soon and he started berating himself aloud.

On the loveseat, Jeremiah cocked his head to the side and watched with curiosity at the state Oswald was working himself into. Before a full minute had passed, he was no longer sure he’d had the right idea in punishing Oswald this way. 

A more practical question came to Oswald's mind after his oral tirade against himself: what if Jeremiah was so mad at him that he ended their arrangement? They'd barely even begun. The more his mind raced, the worse he felt. Finally he was convinced he was so unworthy of anything that he may as well just stop this foolish idea of getting involved with someone as strong and beautiful as Jeremiah. The tears stopped abruptly and his head and shoulders drooped under the weight of crushing self-recrimination and resignation.

Jeremiah hated being wrong but this really wasn’t going as expected. He cracked his neck to distract himself from the fact that his stomach hurt from what he could only imagine was empathy. It wasn’t a feeling he was all that familiar with and he didn't intend to get used to it. He’d expected a tearful reaction to his punishment, but instead he watched Oswald go from quiet tears to a sobbing, muttering mess to this...silent, resigned despair. It was the last reaction that made him act - it was too out of character for Ozzie. He had to fix it or risk ruining everything just to get a little payback.

A hand gently touched Oswald’s right shoulder. Oswald started in surprise but knew from the scent that it was his Dom and he relaxed fractionally. The earplug on that side was removed.

“It’s just me,” Jeremiah whispered. He removed the other earplug and slipped the blindfold off, nonplussed when Oswald barely glanced at him. He freed his sub's wrists and then helped Oswald to his feet, looking him over before folding him into a stilted embrace.

Oswald didn’t know what to make of this hug, and his arms hung at his sides before he flailed a little and then tentatively settled his hands at Jeremiah’s waist. He frankly didn't know if it was a trick or not.

“I’m sorry, pet,” Jeremiah murmured when he finally loosened his grip on Oswald.

“What?” The smaller man was in a daze and understandably confused.

“Come. Sit with me.” He took Oswald’s hand and led him to the loveseat, sitting down and situating Oswald comfortably on his lap.

“This...ah, shouldn’t have happened." He rolled his neck as he thought of the right words to use. "If I'm to expect you to trust me, I can’t act impulsively and put you in harm’s way. I should do what's best for you.”

“Are you saying...that I didn’t...do anything wrong?” Oswald sounded so small and confused.

Jeremiah sighed as he teased his fingers through Oswald’s sweaty hair, breathing in that fragrance he now knew Oswald wore solely for his enjoyment. “I’m saying that punishment should match the infraction. You were right to push back since what happened was before we’d agreed to the rules. I should have listened to you. At most, all you deserved was a couple of smacks to that pretty bottom of yours, not to be bound and left alone in the dark. _I’m sorry_.”

“Wait. You’re apologizing?” Oswald’s mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile.

“Don’t get too used to it. I hate being wrong,” Jeremiah smirked. “But yes, I’m apologizing. I hope you will forgive me.”

Oswald was quiet; too quiet. But Jeremiah continued to stroke his hair until Oswald finally turned and buried his face in the crook of Jeremiah’s neck. His Dom made a low sound of approval and wrapped his arms around Oswald's waist.

“So, what language were you speaking earlier?"

Oswald met his eyes. “When? Did I...wait, how would you know I…”

“I never left the room, pet. I may have behaved like a dick but I stayed to make sure you were alright.”

“You stayed? _Oh_." Oswald sounded almost awed by the idea. "I thought...never mind, Sir. It was Hungarian, I guess. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I slip into it when I’m worked up about something. Habit I picked up from my beloved mother.”

Jeremiah huffed out a quiet laugh. “You may have been cursing me out. More than once, I caught an f-word that sounded rather suspicious.”

“Oh, no! No, that wasn’t an expletive. It was…” He cut himself off and ran his palms lightly over Jeremiah's shoulders, testing whether or not he could touch him freely again.

“Was…?” Jeremiah coaxed, leaning over to grab a cold bottle of water and a cool, damp washcloth from the tiny refrigerator next to them. He handed the bottle to Oswald and then cupped Oswald's cheek and gently wiped his tear streaked face with the cloth.

Oswald hummed in appreciation. He finally spoke again. “It was a word for Master. Főnök.” The pronunciation sounded something like ‘fuehr-nek.’

Oswald was surprised by Jeremiah’s sharp intake of air. “You referred to me as your ‘Master’ in Hungarian?”

“Yes? I promise not to do it again--”

“No, no. I _like_ it,” Jeremiah quickly amended, folding the cloth lengthwise and laying it across the back of Oswald’s neck. “It’s unusual. I'd like to hear you use it in a scene, actually.”

Oswald nodded, another small smile helping to ease the pinched expression he’d been wearing since the isolation punishment. The cool relief of the washcloth emboldened him and he finally had enough breath in him to speak more than a few words at a time.

“To be clear, Jeremiah, I do forgive you. I shouldn’t have smacked you,” and before Jeremiah could interrupt him he added, “and you shouldn’t have punished me that much for it.” He took a deep drought of the water. “Thank you for admitting that. I respect that you can acknowledge a mistake.”

“As I said, you need to be able to trust me. That wasn’t a trustworthy action.” He took the water and sipped it himself. “Would you like to retire for the evening? I know I’ve taken some of the shine off of our playtime.”

“I’m okay now. Really. Can we still play? I was looking forward to it,” Oswald added, blushing.

“Of course, if you think you have the energy. You can choose what you’d like to do. Doesn’t have to be the cross. Bench? Bed? We could even stay right here.” He gestured to the loveseat, where Oswald's legs were now stretched out.

“Player’s choice? I like that.” He thought about it as Jeremiah rubbed his back. He finally nodded decisively. “Yes, I still want the cross tonight. But maybe for not as long as we’d originally planned?”

Jeremiah smiled and pressed a kiss to Oswald’s forehead. “Such a strong boy. Yes, of course.”

***

The St. Andrew’s Cross was a device Oswald had been exposed to both at the club with Willem and down in Victor’s basement dungeon. He was curious to experience it with Jeremiah.

Functionally, the use is straightforward: the sub is typically strapped against the X-shape by the ankles, wrists and waist.  Jeremiah’s cross was lightly padded and the restraints were leather since Oswald had confided an aversion to metal cuffs.

As he tethered Oswald to the crossbars Jeremiah quietly explained what he could expect from the scene, careful to make sure the wrist and waist restraints were tight enough to lift him up and take some pressure off Oswald’s bad leg. Oswald asked a few questions but was in agreement with everything described.

The color had come back to Oswald’s cheeks and he didn’t seem as tired any longer, so Jeremiah accepted that he was indeed able to go through with play - though he would stay alert for any indication that Oswald needed to slow down or stop, even if Ozzie was too stubborn to admit it.

Jeremiah padded across the room and selected a different blindfold, a simple 3 inch strip of black satin that tied around the back of the head - not a full blackout mask. It wasn't meant to isolate; merely to heighten awareness.

For Oswald, the benefit of already being on the cross meant Jeremiah had to lean in tight in order to tie the blindfold and his Dom’s now-recognizable scent served to relax Oswald even as his stomach tightened in anticipation. Jeremiah always smelled like a mix of lemony-spicy goodness with his own personal musk lingering beneath. He took in a deep breath through his nose to enjoy it fully.

“That's it, pet. Breathe,” Jeremiah coaxed, not realizing that Oswald was inhaling deeply for a different reason altogether.

Fingertips trailed lightly down Oswald’s hairless chest. When they reached his abdomen, the muscles contracted at the sensation and the sub's breath hitched. The fingers then smoothed around to his lumbar, palms resting flat against his bare skin and thumbs circling lazily against his hip bones.

“So, so pretty. You know I'll need to taste before we go further. Any objections?”

”No objections, Sir,” Oswald whispered.

Jeremiah knelt and when he nosed at the crease that joined left hip to thigh, the bound man sighed and rolled his neck. After a few experimental licks, Jeremiah sucked Oswald’s half hard cock into his mouth and pressed his thumbs deeply into his hip bones. Biting his lip, Oswald whimpered in delight as his Dom’s clever, warm mouth easily brought him to a full erection.

Sliding off with a purposely audible pop, Jeremiah stood up again and wrapped one hand loosely around Oswald’s cock while gently cupping his balls with the other.

“Good boy. You don't need to hold back; make as much noise as you like." He slowly tugged at Oswald's cock, admiring the deep pink flush of the exposed head as he worked the foreskin over the shaft. "My first uncut lover. Makes me feel even _more_ territorial," he murmured, spreading pre-cum with his thumb as Oswald whimpered. The hand at Oswald's balls fondled them one at a time, carefully but firmly, dragging a moan from the bound man. 

He removed his hands and Oswald whined pathetically, his chin dropping to his chest at the loss.

"Shhh. I've got you. Just retrieving something."

A moment or two passed, and then Oswald felt the tug of a gel cock ring slide down to his base and tighten as Jeremiah set it in place. Oswald groaned in frustration even though he'd known it would be part of the scene.

"Remember one of our rules is no cumming unless I say so. This ought to help until we're adjusted to one another's pace." He licked Oswald's tip and then dipped his tongue into the slit, making Oswald squirm and moan for more.

Jeremiah walked over to the rack of implements and selected a simple leather riding crop with a black plaited handle. When he returned to Oswald, he rested the paddle-shaped slapper on the bound man's shoulder to get his attention. "Are you ready for a little fun?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes...Sir, please. I'm ready for whatever you want, Sir."

"Oh, but isn't it also what _you_ want?" Jeremiah teased, dragging the crop up and down one of Oswald's arms. "My boy likes a little pain, doesn't he?"

"Yes, please. _Sir_." Oswald wriggled in place to get Jeremiah to move the crop around. This was just too much of a tease. Jeremiah pulled the crop away and made Oswald wait a interminable amount of time. Then he snapped the slapper against the inside of Oswald's left thigh, right over the bruises that were sucked there earlier in the day. The man jerked hard against the restraints and let out a surprised gasp.

"Good, you're paying attention. I'd like you to call me that other word now, pet." 

It took a moment for Oswald's brain to come back online, the sharp pain so close to his genitals that it made his eyes water. After a second hard slap just below the same spot, Oswald cried out, "Y-yes, F-főnök! More, please!"

Jeremiah let a breath out from behind clenched teeth. "It's delicious to hear you beg me, Ozzie. More what?"

"More,  _Sir?"_

Jeremiah chuckled darkly. "Of course, silly. But I meant more of _what_?"

"Anything, Sir. Please... _hurt_ me," he begged. "Fuck me..." his voice dropped to a whimper.

"Hmmm. There's an idea." The crop descended onto Oswald's right pectoral, just to the outside of the nipple. "You mark up so prettily, pet. Wait until you see. Luscious red welts that beg for my touch." He stepped closer and pinched the welt that had started to rise on Oswald's chest and lightly bit the pinched flesh, watching Oswald's face out of the corner of his eye as tears started to leak from behind the silk. He let go and caught the nipple between his teeth for good measure.

"Please let me cum, Sir?" Oswald pleaded.

"Now? It's far too early. I know you have more stamina than that."

Oswald was now writhing and moaning in his restraints, trying to get more contact. Jeremiah stepped back and smacked him lightly over each nipple with the crop, and before Oswald could get used to the gentler touches he snapped it hard against the inside of his opposite thigh. Oswald keened, bucking in his restraints.

"What? Do you like to be reminded of those bruises I gave you?" Jeremiah smacked him there again twice as hard and this time, Oswald shouted in pain before dropping his head forward and letting out a lecherous groan that went straight to his Dom's cock.

"Color, Oswald?"

"Green, Sir," he murmured. "Please."

Jeremiah smirked and walked back to the rack to replace the crop, selecting a dragon tail whip. It was a little more painful than a crop but no where near as painful (or dangerous) as a bull whip. He'd purposely bought a range of floggers to work Oswald up to a high tolerance before bringing out the "big guns." A dragon tail looked as it sounded; the tail was wide and tapered down to a point. It wasn't so thin that it would cut - and after their earlier incident, Jeremiah was not looking to make his sub bleed tonight. He'd save that for another time when they both had more energy.

Oswald felt a water bottle against his lips and he tilted his head back to let Jeremiah give him a drink. After he'd consumed about half the bottle, Jeremiah slid the cool, wet plastic along Oswald's face and neck before capping it and dropping it back to the floor. Once he was satisfied Oswald had gotten his breath back, he dragged the new implement along the bound man's shoulder and this time, down his side.

"Ready?"

"Yes, Főnök."

Jeremiah briefly closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand against his leather-covered bulge.  _Jesus that word is really fucking hot._

But instead of feeling the whip strike him, Oswald sucked in a breath as he felt cool, lubed fingers slide behind his balls and stroke his perineum. 

"Oh...Jeremiah," he sighed, twisting in his restraints again.

"Hmm?" The Dom slid a finger further back and circled his puckered entrance. "I expect you're still a little loose from earlier, but I mustn't assume." He eased a finger in and Oswald gave a choked sound of pleasure, unable to either get away or push down onto the intrusion.

"Please let me have more? I want to feel _you_."

"Not quite yet, pet." He thrust the finger in and out a few times before adding a second, making Oswald beg again. "You know I'm thicker than three, right?" he whispered into Oswald's ear. His sub nodded and groaned in anticipation as the third finger was added.

"Now may I come? Please, Sir?"

Jeremiah kissed him on the cheek and slowly pulled his fingers free, stepping back and casting the whip at his stomach. It landed with a beautifully loud crack and stung like a bitch. Oswald cried out and then sagged in his restraints.

"Color?"

"Y-yellow, Sir."

Jeremiah allowed for about 20 seconds of recovery time and then snapped the whip twice more in different spots while Oswald shuddered and wept from the stinging pain.

Tears leaking out from behind a blindfold were fine, but as soon as Oswald literally started crying it was time for Jeremiah to put an end to his boy's misery. Another time, they would push the boundaries, but Oswald was clearly spent. He dropped the whip and traced his lips along the welts that were raised on Oswald's porcelain skin. When Oswald's tears slowed, Jeremiah slid his fingers back in one at a time and began to fuck him slowly. Oswald's breath stuttered as Jeremiah loosened and slipped off the adjustable cock ring. 

" _Now_ , Főnök?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Cum for me."

Before Jeremiah even finished speaking, Oswald tensed and came with a ragged gasp, spilling onto his stomach. 

"So beautiful," Jeremiah cooed, slipping his fingers out when Oswald's muscles stopped contracting. He licked up a stripe of the cum on his sub's belly and hummed in satisfaction. "Let's get you down and fix you up, yes?"

"But...you...?"

"Shhh." He knelt down to unfasten Oswald's ankles first, then his wrists so Oswald could drop his arms around Jeremiah's neck. When the waist was unfastened, Jeremiah caught the limp man and carried him over to the bed on the opposite wall. He draped Oswald’s dressing gown around his shoulders before lowering him down onto the mattress. He wiped up Oswald's skin and rubbed a soothing cream into his welts before he lay beside him, tugging him into a close embrace. Oswald curled into Jeremiah’s chest automatically and sighed blissfully.

_______________

For a lovely artist's rendition of Jeremiah and Oswald at play, please view the link below - a NSFW gift from my dear friend and fellow writer [@Castello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/castello)!

<https://imgur.com/a/TGjZKSJ>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah's cologne is Christian Dior Eau Sauvage (vintage formulation). 
> 
> A nice looking example of a St. Andrew's Cross can be seen here (NSFW?): http://photobucket.com/gallery/user/LooneyLoopyLupin/media/bWVkaWFJZDoxMjcxNzk0NzM=/


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While cuddling his sub, Jeremiah has an unpleasant flashback. In present day, he and Oswald simply have a nice conversation before turning in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter (in italics) is a flashback. Short transition chapter to help get us over the hump - sorry to have taken so long between chapters. More to come!

~6 years earlier...

_Sam Perkins was pleasantly buzzed after their latest play session. After that one instance when Sam crashed from both his physical injuries and a bad case of sub-drop, his Dom never skimped on aftercare again._

_Xander Wilde uncuffed Sam from the motel headboard and helped him into the bathroom to tend to his injuries. Sam was adorned with red welts from a hard caning to the ass and back of the thighs. Xander preferred to use aloe vera gel when the skin wasn’t broken; it was a natural healant and virtually without scent. Sam couldn’t go home to his family smelling like mentholated analgesic._

_Xander worked efficiently, quietly humming to himself as he rubbed the gel into the raised abrasions._

_“How does it look?”_

_“Come on, Sammy. You know how pretty you are with stripes all over your cheeks. Shall I videotape it next time?” Xander teased._

_“No, I know. I just like to hear you say it.”_

_Sam had always been insecure, but he felt Xander was losing interest in their play dates as his graduation day drew closer. The teacher had hoped that they would continue to see each other after Xander got out of school._

_“I did say it. You were just groaning too loudly to hear me,” Xander smirked.  After he finished with the welts, he rubbed the gel into Sam's wrists where the cuffs had chafed his skin. “There. Can you lay down for a bit? I don’t think you’re ready to drive.” He rested his hand on the small of Sam’s back above any bruises and guided him out of the bathroom._

_“Yeah, sure. I can hang out for a bit this week._ _Look, I know you’re probably still sore that I cut our last date short but I had to see who was calling. At least now I keep it on vibrate and…”_

_“Don’t.” Xander’s voice was suddenly flat. “Now isn’t the time. I want you to rest, not rehash your bad manners.”_

_“You’re really stuck on the whole ‘manners’ thing, aren’t you, babe? It’s a little silly. My kid might have broken a leg at soccer or something.”_

_Not this again. Xander felt the rage building and before they had gotten to the bed, the redhead shoved Sam forward hard enough to make him stumble and land on his knees._

_“I wouldn’t care if your house was on fire,” he spat through clenched teeth. “What about ‘leaving your family out of our playtime’ is so fucking hard for you to grasp?  Jesus Christ, it’s not like you make time for me more than once a week these days. I shouldn’t have to share that time with a cell phone.” He stalked over to his clothes neatly folded over the back of the wooden chair and hastily started to dress. “These meet-ups aren’t very important to you anymore, are they, Sammy?”_

_Sam watched Xander in stunned silence. He never knew when to shut up, and now he’d gone and truly pissed his Dom off._

_"This was supposed to be a two-way street, Samuel," Xander added when no response was forthcoming. "When we got involved you swore that you wouldn’t mention them, wouldn’t wear your ring, wouldn’t answer your cell phone. You’ve broken all three of those rules multiple times.”_

_“You...you could always punish me…” Sam murmured._

_“It’s not about me punishing you. It’s about you disrespecting me. You gave me a list of hard and soft limits that I’ve never gone beyond once I understood them. Me, I never asked for more than what you_ agreed _to give. My rules were simple and boiled down to your undivided attention when we were together like this. And you aren't able to do it. It’s been eight months now, and you get lazier every time we see each other. It’s not like you’re just playing around to bait me and get a good whipping out of it either - you just can’t commit.” Xander knotted his tie in place and turned away. “Or you just don’t give a shit.”_

_“I do! You know I do. Xan, don’t leave like this. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”_

_Xander sat on the chair and tied his oxfords. The mechanics of it calmed his frayed nerves. He wasn’t an emotional man by any means, and he wasn’t in love (or even strong like) with Sam. Sam was a good lay and introduced Xander to a lifestyle that he very much wanted to pursue, yes. But Xander simply could no longer tolerate blatant disrespect. Bad things tended to happen when people pushed his buttons. He’d let Sam get away with too much for too long._

_“Call me when you decide to do this right, Samuel. My requests are quite simple."_

_“Xan…”_

“And don’t call me XAN!” _the redhead roared before slamming the door on his way out._

 

Present day...

Jeremiah blinked, dragging himself out of the unwanted memory. _What on earth had brought that to mind?_ It was nothing like what had happened with Oswald earlier. Oswald had made an innocent mistake. Sammy had betrayed his wishes over and over again.

It must have been the action of rubbing cream into Oswald’s bruised skin that sent him down memory lane. _That was okay then._ He thought his brain might have connected the behaviors of the two subs - and they were completely unrelated to one another.

Relieved, he glanced down at Oswald snuggled up against his chest. “Are you asleep?” he whispered.

“Not quite, but I’m ready to.” Penguin slipped the blindfold off, keeping his eyes against Jeremiah’s skin as he blinked a few times to get adjusted to the light.

“It’s fine to rest, but I’d like us to keep this room strictly for play; have a clear delineation between playtime and ‘regular time.’ So, when you're ready, let's head to my bedroom for the night.”

At that, Oswald perked up. “Why did I think I was supposed to sleep in here while you slept in the master bedroom?"

“I don’t know. You’re not a Komondor, are you? I’m not going to force you to sleep in the barn,” he smirked.

“Wait, you didn’t know Hungarian earlier, how do you know about Komondors?”

“In the circus where I was raised we had an animal trainer that had originally been a livestock farmer. When he left farming he’d kept his [Komondor](https://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/komondor/) as a pet and the wooly fellow used to herd our horses, llamas, performing dogs, the like. Anything that wasn't a predator. His name was Achaius. The dog, not the farmer.”

Oswald smiled at the memory Jeremiah shared with him. “You must tell me some circus stories one day.”

“Hmm. I’ll consider it. There weren’t many particularly good memories, but if the occasional nugget applies, I’m sure I’ll work it into the conversation.” He stretched and then stood, holding a hand out for Oswald.

“Wait. I, uh. You didn’t, um…did you?” He pointed at the leather pants Jeremiah was still wearing.

“Oh, I’m fine.” He tugged the smaller man onto his feet. “That’s not what tonight was about. And I certainly wouldn't have wanted to ruin the inside of these new pants the first time I wore them!" he winked. "A scene isn’t necessarily about orgasm for me, Ozzie. It’s the whole experience.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Oswald’s head.  “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

A delightful blush crept over Oswald’s cheeks. “Yes, I most certainly did. Thank you.”

“Good. So did I. Let me grab something from the fridge - you should have a little something to eat.”

While Jeremiah cleaned his hands with a sanitizer wipe and then grabbed a pre-packaged protein snack and some more water, Oswald slipped a small bottle of lube into the pocket of his robe. _Hopefully we'll_ _need it in the morning._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is thrilled to see Oswald when he gets home, and is even more thrilled with what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold/italics represent Martin's note pad scribbles.
> 
> Italicized paragraphs are flashbacks, though these flashbacks are from earlier the same day.

Oswald returned home around 10:30 am the next day; well-rested, well-fed, and well-fucked. He spent the ride back to the Falcone mansion daydreaming about the morning with his host. He'd barely stepped from the car when he found a tiny person fastened to his waist. Smiling indulgently, Oswald ruffled Martin’s unruly curls.  
  
“Missed me, did you?”  
  
Martin nodded his head vigorously and presented his notepad. 

 ** _Did you have a good time?_** ** _  
_**  
“I did.” Oswald smiled, nodding to acknowledge the boy’s near-bursting curiosity. “We had a nice dinner, spent some time getting to know one another better, and I slept rather well considering I was away from home."

He took Martin's hand and they walked together back to the house. 

 

_***_

 

 _Oswald had been clever to pocket the lubricant the previous night, as Jeremiah would have initially balked at the idea of strenuous wake-up sex. He neither wanted to hurt Oswald nor have to do too much work._  
  
_The pale man was feeling unusually relaxed, having slept for nearly five hours. He’d awoken briefly to ponder why there was such warmth against him before remembering he was sharing his bed for something other than carnal activities since childhood. As an adult he’d never “slept” beside another person; as a child had never fallen asleep next to anyone other than his twin brother Jerome or their mother. Ever._  
  
_When he cracked his eyes open and saw it was 6:30 am, he nearly chuckled aloud at how late it was. Instead he grabbed his phone and sent a quick message before settling back against Oswald, who had predictably ended up as the little spoon during the night._  
  
_When Penguin stirred about 40 minutes later, he stretched and then purposefully wiggled his ass against Jeremiah’s still evident morning erection._  
  
_“Good morning to you too, Mr. Cobblepot,” he drawled lazily, slipping a hand around to tweak one of his partner’s nipples and earning a quiet squeak in response._  
  
_“G’morning. Don’t want to waste that, do you?” Oswald murmured sleepily._  
  
_“Oh, I don’t know...what ever would we do with it?” the pale man teased, enjoying Oswald rubbing against him but making no move to do more than snuggle. It was good going that Ozzie had prepped before coming over yesterday, but now? Jeremiah briefly chided himself for not remembering to stash some lube in the nightstand. It was a bit early for the strenuous tussle of going in dry._  
  
_But Oswald leaned over the side of the bed where he’d neatly folded the robe Jeremiah had loaned him and then giddily pressed the smuggled tube into the pale hand resting on his hip. He turned back just in time to see Jeremiah arch an eyebrow in amusement._  
  
_"Well, you can’t think of everything, Jeremiah. Even a mind as brilliant as yours has to rest once in awhile so you can come up with your next grand scheme.”_  
  
_“My resourceful little bird,” he smirked, quickly slicking himself up and tossing the tube back to Ozzie. “Here’s to lazy mornings between satin sheets.”_  

 

***

 

When they arrived in the kitchen, Oswald was surprised to see that Martin had been finishing up a bowl of cereal.

“Well. Is this a mid-morning snack, or did you sleep late, young man?”  
  
Martin had the sense to look sheepish. He quickly scrawled the reason on his notepad.  
  
**_Overslept. Didn’t think you’d mind since you were out._** ** _  
_**  
“Is that so? Well, I can’t fault you for it. Please go back to your breakfast.”  
  
**_Did you eat?_** ** _  
_**  
“Indeed. I had a pleasant breakfast over a cup of Earl Grey. A darn sight earlier in the day than you, apparently,” he smirked. “Plus,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “I threw caution to the wind and had a sinfully delicious breakfast treat with my tea.”  

  
***  
  
  
_They’d languidly made love on their sides in that same spooning position and amidst Oswald getting his breath back and Jeremiah’s gentle panting into Ozzie’s neck, a loud rumble disturbed their otherwise peaceful afterglow._  
  
_“Oh my God,” Oswald mumbled._  
  
_“Hungry, are we?” Jeremiah huffed a laugh next to Oswald’s ear._  
  
_“Can I go make you some coffee, please?” the smaller man deflected, embarrassed._  
  
_“Hmm, only if you stay nude. I want to appreciate you a little longer.”_  
  
_Penguin, avoiding the wet spot(s), swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked over his shoulder. “If I must. But what if someone is out there?”_  
  
_“Oh, do you suppose I have a lot of foot traffic on this floor?” Now Jeremiah was outright giggling._  
  
_“Ecco?”_  
  
_“She’s not out there.” He glanced at the clock. “Anymore. She left about 30 minutes ago.”_  
  
_“Wait, what?”_  
  
_“I texted her earlier to pick up a few things for us. Don’t worry, she was gone before we got...busy.”_  
  
_Oswald shook his head, amused that Jeremiah had taken care of something he’d not given any thought to._  
  
_“Did you think I’d send you home unfed, Mr. Cobblepot? What kind of a host would I be?” When he noticed Oswald still standing at the foot of the bed with an unreadable expression, his smile widened. “What?”_  
  
_“Just admiring all that white skin. You really are lovely.”_  
  
_Jeremiah’s smile faltered slightly in surprise at the compliment. “Why, thank you. I’m glad it appeals. Not that I had much to do with it…”_  
  
_“Of course; I hope that wasn’t insensitive of me. But yes, it appeals greatly. You are rather an exquisite creature.” Oswald reddened when he realized he was gushing, and quickly left the bedroom to wrangle the pod coffee maker._  
  
_He poked his head back in as the coffee brewed. “Should we eat at the small table or…?”_  
  
_“Normally, but no worries about crumbs or spills in here now- have to change the sheets today anyway, don’t I?” he smirked._  
  
_“Suit yourself,” Oswald teased, going back to prepare the coffee and a cup of tea for himself. After bringing the hot drinks to the bedroom, he went back to collect the bakery box, plates and napkins._  
  
_“Where did she go, Paris?” Oswald asked, astonished at the selection inside the box._  
  
_“Did you expect Corn Flakes or Pop Tarts, Ozzie?” Jeremiah nudged Oswald’s shoulder with his own._  
  
_There were about a dozen treats in the box, including pear and chocolate galette, mini raspberry turnovers and apple danishes, cinnamon pecan buns, and slices of two different stuffed breads - one with walnut and one with poppy seed filling._  
  
_Oswald squealed. “Is that bejgli?”_

 

***

 

Oswald produced a ziplock baggie from his jacket pocket and passed it to Martin.  
  
“This is a special treat - it’s called bejgli. My mother used to bake it when I was your age, and it was one of my favorite breakfast breads ever. This is almost as good as hers. We almost ate all of it, but Jeremiah, er, Mr. J. thought you might like to try it. Not now though. Place it in the refrigerator for later and I’ll warm it up for you to have after dinner. Deal?”  
  
Martin put the pastry away as directed and came back to give Oswald a hug. He signed “Thank you,” but Oswald shook his head.  
  
“It was Mr. J.’s idea. I was being far too greedy to leave any for you.”

 

***

 

 _“Is it what, now?”_  
  
_If he’d had a free hand (and wasn’t all too aware of the rules he'd agreed to) he might have smacked Jeremiah with a pillow._  
  
_“There’s no way you didn’t know that traditional Hungarian sweet bread made its way into the box, Jeremiah.”_  
  
_“Maybe?” he hedged, eyes heavenward. When he looked back at Oswald’s beaming face, he had to confess._  
  
_“Perhaps Ecco found a bakery owned by a talented Lithuanian who makes Polish, German, and Hungarian treats. I’d asked her to call ahead yesterday with the hope that you’d stay overnight and she picked up the order this morning. Good that the baker had enough - I understand it takes him three days to properly make these breads.”_  
  
_“Mmm," Penguin moaned happily around his bejgli. "Growing up, my breakfasts were very traditional, though not often sweet. Usually a dark bread with blood sausage or Hungarian bratwurst. There was always raw tomato and onion and pickled vegetables on the side. Mother would go hungry herself before letting me head out to school on an empty stomach. But when she’d get in a baking mood, the dear women would make bejgli with walnut filling like this,” he held up the bread, “or rétes, a strudel filled with cooked fruit or nut or poppy seed paste.” He sighed deeply. “Gertrud Kapelput was a saint.”_  
  
_Jeremiah smiled fondly and snuck a hand into the box. “I’d like to try the poppy seed myself - it looks similar to makowiec.” He took a taste and nodded. “My mother was not much of a cook, but whenever Haly’s Circus stopped in a town with a Polish bakery she’d send one or both of us out to pick up makowiec - poppy seed sweet rolls - as a treat. Frankly, I think she hoped the poppy seeds would explain away a positive drug test when she inevitably got arrested in that new town.”_  
  
_Between bites, Oswald’s eyes widened. Jeremiah chewed thoughtfully and then, noticing Oswald’s stare added, “Possession of a controlled substance, drunk and disorderly, solicitation. Any number of charges. Lila Valeska was decidedly not a saint.”_  
  
_They sat in companionable silence after that as they finished eating._  
  
_“Thank you,” Oswald murmured as he swallowed the last of his sweet breakfast. He chose not to comment on Lila; he was just thrilled Jeremiah said anything at all about his childhood. “This was wonderful. You didn’t have to go above and beyond like this. You have no need to impress me, you know.”_  
  
_Jeremiah smiled and shrugged. “It wasn’t to impress you, dear, it was to please you. I’m glad it worked. Oh, and do take the last piece of poppy seed bejgli home for the boy.”_  

 

***

 

**_Thank him for me._ **

“You can thank him yourself.  He’ll be here tomorrow night for dinner.”

The boy’s eyes lit up as if Oswald had declared it was Christmas. He pointed to himself with a quizzical look.

“Yes, you will be eating with us. It was all your idea anyway, wasn’t it? I told Mr. J. you insisted on joining us. He was quite surprised and I think he’s secretly pleased that you want to see him. What should we serve for dinner, though? Should we cook or cater?”

Martin’s brow furrowed in thought.

“I was thinking perhaps Lobster Thermidor,” Oswald paused, noting that Martin was scribbling madly, “or maybe whole roasted red snapper with those little red potatoes you like.”

With a wide grin and a flourish, Martin turned his notepad around.

 

***

 

_Clad in his black and red robe, Jeremiah left the bedroom to take care of a few things so Oswald could enjoy his bath in privacy._

_When the crime boss was dressed and packed to leave, he found Jeremiah tidying up the playroom._

_“I’ve called my driver. I’m just about ready to get out of your hair for the day,” Penguin said from the doorway._

_“I’ll meet you in the living area in two minutes, Ozzie,” Jeremiah replied with a smile as he hung up the sanitized dragon tail flogger._ _He would have preferred to clean up the room right after its use, but given how late and how tired they both were last night, he justified waiting until morning. The pale man wiped everything down and sanitized whatever objects needed it so they were ready to go for the next play date._ _He’d rightly concluded that Oswald would take a rather leisurely bath, so there had been plenty of time to finish._

_“So,” Jeremiah murmured from behind where Oswald stood looking out of the living room window. He slipped his arms around Oswald’s waist. “I do hope we can do this again soon.”_

_Oswald turned around fully in the embrace and gently kissed Jeremiah’s cheek._

_“Is that an invitation?"_

_"Absolutely." The pale man gave one of those genuine smiles that made Oswald's stomach flip._

_"Good. And I have an invitation for you as well. We’d like you to have dinner at the Falcone mansion.”_

_“Hmm. Is this ‘we’ you speak of, you and a split personality, or are we referring to young Martin?”_

_Oswald smiled proudly. “Martin, yes. In fact, it was at his instigation that I’m extending the invitation today. I’d certainly planned to invite you at some point but the young man was quite adamant that I not wait too long and include him in the proceedings. He very much wants to see you.”_

_“Is that right?” Jeremiah cocked his head to the side, pondering the idea. “He’s rather a mature boy for his age, isn’t he?" Jeremiah was truly surprised the boy wanted anything to do with him. "Well, I’m sure I can work it into the schedule. When?”_

_“When is convenient?”_

_“Ozzie,” he breathed, leaning in and nibbling at Oswald’s ear. “I told you, I will make every effort to arrange my calendar to suit. You’re a priority.”_

_“Uh,” reason started to slip away with the feel of Jeremiah’s lips trailing down Oswald’s neck. “Tomorrow.” His eyes flew open when he realized what he’d said._

_“Done. Tomorrow it is.” Jeremiah stepped back and picked up Oswald’s bag. “Now, I must let you go or you’ll be staying overnight again,” he winked. As they walked to the elevator he added, “Do text me when you decide what time I should arrive. What can I bring?”_

_“You don’t need to bring anything but yourself, but I know you won’t settle for that. How about a bottle of wine?”_

_“I can do that. Talk to you later, pet.” Jeremiah kissed Oswald’s lips lightly and when the elevator door opened to reveal a well-armed Ecco, he let his female lieutenant escort Cobblepot the rest of the way out to his ride._

 

_*_ _**_

 

_**A pretend barbecue! Hamburgers and hot dogs!** _

“Oh dear,” Oswald lamented, “that’s not quite the direction I was heading.” He looked at those pleading, puppy dog eyes and sighed. “And yet, you know I won’t deny you this if you it’s what you really want, right?”

Martin’s grin grew impossibly wider and he clapped his hands.

“Fine. What goes with a ‘pretend’ barbecue then?”

After quite a bit of writing, the plan was made.

**_We can set the table like a picnic with coleslaw and potato salad, rolls, corn on the cob, ketchup, mustard and watermelon._**

“Skip the corn. Terrible for the teeth. Roasted vegetables instead.”

The boy’s nose crinkled.

“Martin, we have to have something relatively healthy in there. How about some chicken or fish as well?”

**_Fish tho? Yuk._ **

“Fair enough. No fish. But perhaps I can at least put out some shrimp cocktail for Mr. J. and myself as an appetizer?” The boy shrugged, understanding he’d won the battle.

**_Can we have a red and white check tablecloth? Pickles, too?_**

“Yes, fine. I’ll send someone to pick all of this up, plus some dessert.” He put a hand to his head in mock exhaustion. “Children! Ugh, you’ll be the death of me, Martin.” 

Both his and the boy’s affectionate expressions and smiles told a different story, though.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin takes center stage as the "mini me" host to Oswald's dinner for Jeremiah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold/italics represent Martin's scribbles.
> 
> I'm also obsessed with showing how these three handsome men are dressed for dinner, so please check out the links in the chapter if you have a chance.

Things were just about ready. Jeremiah was set to arrive at 4 pm, the chef was finalizing preparations, and the Cobblepot men were each getting dressed.

Oswald had advised Jeremiah that the attire for this event was “extremely casual” but he knew that the pale man was still likely to show up in a suit. At Martin’s appeal for dressing down, Oswald wore a pair of gray slacks, [a purple pullover sweater, a crisp white dress shirt and a purple and gray striped tie](https://lookastic.com/men/looks/purple-v-neck-sweater-white-dress-shirt-dark-purple-tie/15489). He’d allowed the boy to wear jeans (very dark, clean, dressy jeans - with brown loafers - not sneakers!), which he wore with a [ blue argyle sweater vest and a blue and white plaid shirt ](https://makeit-loveit.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/IMG_3208-003.jpg) underneath. Although Oswald assured him he did not need to wear a tie, Martin insisted upon wearing a mint colored bow tie. Oswald had to admit, it was adorable.

“You look very handsome, Martin. But, we have to do something about your hair.” Penguin led the boy to his own bathroom and Martin watched in the mirror as the man dipped his fingers into a jar of pomade and rubbed it between his hands. Then the magic happened: with a few quick swipes of those long fingers through the boy’s hair and some fluttering movements, some brown curls were tamed into waves, with the curls in the front wrapped around Oswald’s pointer finger and then patted into place on his forehead like a more defined clump of [corkscrews](https://www.about-jerseys.com/haircuts-for-guys-with-curly-hair/18-best-tame-the-fluff-images-on-pinterest-hair-style-for-men-in-consort-with-cute-hair-theme/).

“What do you think?”

Martin gave a thumbs up before hurrying off to supervise the kitchen activities. The hot food wouldn’t need to be cooked until they were close to dinnertime so everything would be fresh off the indoor grill, but Martin assisted with finger foods like tortilla chips and salsa (Oswald despaired of the nutritional values on the side of those products) and pita triangles with baba ganoush. The latter was insisted upon by Oswald in lieu of chips and onion dip, and later there would be cold shrimp with cocktail sauce and raw oysters with hot sauce and lemon wedges when the adults were ready to start snacking.

Oswald was definitely out of his element with this whole theme, but he had to admit the dining room table looked very festive with the red and white checked tablecloth, the red cloth napkins, and the assorted wicker and wooden bowls that would hold the snacks. Lord, the boy had even insisted upon using everyday ware and plain utensils instead of china and silverware.

Thank goodness Jeremiah had already eaten here and knew that Oswald had more taste than to serve dinner in such a plebeian manner!

When the door chime alerted him that it was indeed already 4pm, Oswald headed to the vestibule with Martin hot on his heels.

“No, now you wait here for a moment. I’ll let Mr. J in.”

The boy’s face fell.

“Oh, alright. You can come with me, but let me do the talk... _ing…_ ” his voice trailed off when he realized what he had said. “I’m sorry, Martin. That was insensitive.”

But Martin just laughed soundlessly and tagged along behind his ‘Poppa.’

“Oswald,” Jeremiah greeted when the door was finally opened. The man was wearing that wonderful plaid wool coat again, but this time was bareheaded.

“Jeremiah, please come in. Welcome back to my... _our_ home.” He leaned his head to the left to indicate Martin at his side.

“Hello Martin.” Jeremiah tentatively extended his free hand and Martin quickly shook it like a little gentleman.

Once Jeremiah was over the threshold and divested of his coat and gift bag, Martin tugged on Oswald’s sleeve.

“Yes, what is it?” His brow creased in confusion when the boy tapped his own head and pointed to the closet door. Jeremiah, however, immediately understood and held back a laugh, settling for a knowing smirk.

“I do believe the young man would like to make sure I don’t forget the hat that I accidentally left behind after my last visit. Is that it?”

Thrilled at being understood so quickly, Martin nodded and smiled gratefully. Oswald opened the closet, and sure enough, there was the fedora on the top shelf. He lifted it out and placed it on the hat dome at the top of the coat rack.

“I’m not even going to ask what you were doing in the closet to notice something that high on the shelf,” Oswald murmured, taking Martin’s hand and allowing Jeremiah to walk in front of them to the den.

Out of the dim hallway, Oswald could better take in what Jeremiah was wearing. The pale man wore a [ gray and blue plaid blazer ](https://bonobos.com/products/unconstructed-italian-wool-blazer?color=beau%20grey%20plaid) , paired with navy chinos and a navy silk crew neck sweater. Instead of his multicolored custom oxfords, he’d opted for a pair of [ navy shoes ](https://bonobos.com/products/del-toro-velvet-slipper?color=navy) that looked like velvet with a brocade trim. Clearly expensive fine footwear; Italian if Oswald had to guess.

“You look...very well put together, Mr. J,” Oswald finally managed, keeping the compliment as family friendly as he could. “It’s rare to see you in such casual attire.”

“Thank you. I’d have to say, Mr. Cobblepot, you are one of the few to have seen me...out of my suit,” the pale man winked, immediately raising a flush on Oswald’s cheeks. He looked down at the boy still standing attentively. “And that’s a very smart looking tie you have on, Martin. You have good taste. Inherited from your Poppa I presume?”

“No, actually, Martin picks out his own clothes. There was only one occasion I fancied dressing him like me, for a dinner party. Otherwise, this is all him.”

Martin nodded solemnly, fingering his bow tie to make sure it was still straight.

“Oh. I forgot - there is wine in that bag and a little something for Martin. To maybe make dinner a little smoother.”

Both Cobblepots looked puzzled. Oswald pulled a gift-wrapped package out of the bag: it was the shape of a picture frame. Martin looked up at both men and Jeremiah nodded that he could take it and the boy trotted off to sit on the sofa to open it. The adults shared a look and Jeremiah gave Oswald a quick peck while Martin was occupied tearing the paper.

Once out of the box, it was a tabletop whiteboard with two dry erase markers and a felt eraser.

“It has a stand so you can prop it up. This way, if you wish to speak to both of us during dinner, you needn’t pass around your notepad.”

Martin hugged the whiteboard to his chest and smiled broadly. Oswald, meanwhile, was dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe you’d thought to do that,” he whispered. “I’ve had the boy with me on and off for almost a year and it never occurred to me.”

“Now, now. You had no need. The two of you have a good way to communicate with each other. I feared I’d be constantly behind in the conversation; this way, I can more easily participate. I’d considered a tablet but I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Brilliant,” Oswald remarked as he squeezed Jeremiah’s hand in thanks. “Come Martin, let’s set it up near your seat.”

Before getting up, the boy took the black marker and quickly scrawled on the white surface before turning it around.

**_Thank you Mr. J !_ **

“You’re welcome. Now what’s this casual dining going to entail, gentlemen? I’m quite curious.”

***

 

“It looks like a picnic.”

Martin proudly wrote: **_Yes! BBQ!_ ** on his whiteboard.

“Barbecue, you say? Well, that sounds interesting.” Oswald held his breath, hoping Jeremiah wouldn’t just turn on his heel and leave. “With burgers or hot dogs?”

**_We’re having both plus chicken and vegetables and salads._ **

Jeremiah smiled and then gave Oswald a reassuring nod. “Sounds good.” He helped himself to some shrimp and three oyster shells.  “When I was growing up, that was often one of the ways we knew we were guaranteed to have dinner - when all the performers and grounds crew were done and got together in the chow tent for cheeseburgers and hot dogs and french fries. Otherwise, it was whatever Lila had in the cabinets or refrigerator. Usually not much more than sour milk, stale cereal, and vodka,” he laughed.

Oswald shook his head in empathy. “I never thought about how hard it must have been traveling all that time.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “You get used to anything.”

**_What do you mean performers?_ **

Jeremiah read the whiteboard and realized Oswald hadn’t told Martin about his background. When he glanced over, Oswald quietly said, “It’s your story to tell, not mine. I haven’t said a thing.”

Nodding, he took a sip of his drink and then responded directly to Martin. “I grew up in a circus family, Martin. Are you familiar with what a circus is?”

The boy’s eyes were round as saucers. He nodded once.

“Well, all of the acts: magicians, tightrope walkers, animal trainers, clowns, dancers, horse riders - all of the people who perform in the show are considered a family of sorts even if they aren’t related by blood. And they travel in a caravan from town to town. Traveling circus acts don’t earn much money, but after a show or two, whatever money was left after expenses went toward a big cookout for the staff. We would get to eat with everyone.”

**_We?_ **

Jeremiah took a deep breath. “My brother and I. Our mother was a dancer.” 

Martin had some pita chips and hummus while he thought this over. Oswald changed the subject and started discussing the health benefits of eating mollusks like oysters.

“Do you realize they are packed with protein and have a wide variety of vitamins and minerals? I was hoping you’d enjoy them seeing as you’ve eaten other types of fish and shellfish with me.”

“Ah, and here I thought you were plying me with oysters for a different reason altogether, Ozzie.” The pale man winked and Oswald laughed, pretty sure Martin didn’t know anything about oysters and their supposed aphrodisiac qualities.

A few minutes later, Martin started to write.

**_Mr. J are you a_ **

For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the spelling of the word he wanted to use. He shook his head and wrote: **_parrot?_ ** before making a face and crossing it out. He quickly wrote on his notepad to Oswald, asking to be excused for five minutes.

“Yes, you may. But do you need something?”

The boy shook his head and took off in the direction of the library.

Oswald noticed Jeremiah looked uncomfortable. “What is it?”

The man just gave a quick shake of his head and folded his hands in his lap.

Martin came back in with a ceramic decoration that had been hanging in one of Sofia’s rooms. It was a white mask with red lips and darkened eyeholes. He brought it right up to Jeremiah’s side of the table, and stood next to his left elbow with a quizzical look on his face.

Oswald facepalmed and turned a sickly gray color.

“Pierrot,” Jeremiah murmured. “It is spelled p-i-e-r-r-o-t and is French. The ‘t’ sound is silent.”

Martin was suddenly nervous, noticing that his Poppa seemed upset. When he looked back at Jeremiah, the man’s face was very still, but he didn’t seem mad. He ran a finger along the mask and pointed at Jeremiah.

“No, son. I’m not a pierrot. But I see why you might think that. I did say I grew up in a circus and I suppose I look like I’m wearing white face makeup, yes?”

“Martin, that’s quite enough. You are insulting our guest.”

“No, it’s fine Oswald.”

Martin felt tears prick his eyes. He meant no harm, but he’d wanted to ask about Mr. J’s face since the first time he saw him. He turned to go back to his seat, but Jeremiah took hold of his wrist.

“Come here. Touch.” He took the boy’s hand and raised it to his face. Martin tentatively ran a finger along the warm skin, eyes widening when he saw it wasn’t makeup at all. The boy set the mask down that was still in his other hand and then placed both palms on Jeremiah’s cheeks.

Oswald let out a sad bark of laughter that bordered on hysteria.

“How?” the boy mouthed, letting go and stepping back.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, sit down Martin!”

The boy scurried over to his seat but instead of sitting he erased what was on the board and scribbled:

**_Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt. I like it._ **

He cast a sideways glance at the elder Cobblepot and then wrote:

**_It makes you different. Like me. But being different is hard._ **

Jeremiah swallowed audibly and Oswald reached over to tug Martin close. “I’m sorry my boy. I know it’s hard. I wish I could change it for you.”

After Martin’s sniffles slowed and Oswald was a little calmer, Jeremiah started to speak.

“It doesn’t hurt, no. I wasn’t always like this.”

The boy turned in his perch on Oswald’s lap to listen, and Oswald reached to his left to bring the whiteboard close in case it was needed.

“In my work, I sometimes encounter dangerous substances. So, there was an accident and it changed my features. But it really doesn’t hurt. You know,” he added, cracking his neck and then looking back at Martin, “it _is_ hard to be different sometimes. But being different means you’re special. Unique. I thought I would be afraid when I became different, but I wasn’t. Were you always different, or did something happen like what happened to me?”

The boy blinked a few times and then wrote on the whiteboard.

**_Not always. I could talk. Then my mommy got hurt and my voice went away. I keep trying, but no sound comes._ **

Oswald’s eyes filled with tears. “Martin, I didn’t know.” Martin nodded and let his Poppa hug him before restlessly climbing off his lap and returning to his seat.

**_I didn’t mean to make everyone sad._ **

“It’s alright, Martin. We don’t want you to be sad either. You are very good at communicating with people without making a sound.”

Jeremiah looked at Oswald questioningly, and he nodded that he was fine. Oswald asked Martin if it was alright if he left for a moment, and disappeared to the next room to blow his nose.

**_But those men that kept me thought I was faking when I couldn’t make noise. Mr. Santos knew I wasn’t faking._ **

“Yes, I understand Mr. Santos was a good companion. He’s a teacher you know.”

**_Is he ok?_ **

“I spoke to him last week and he asked about you. I think he would like to tutor you again the next time your Poppa needs help.”

Oswald took that moment to return. “Who?”

“Mr. Santos. The schoolteacher that alerted us to the bullying Martin received from one of my security guards.”

**_I used to get bullied at the orphanage until Poppa helped me._ **

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow and Oswald laughed in embarrassment. “Yes. I, uh, started instructing Martin in the subtle arts of deflection, conspiracy and self-defense.”

**_Instead of me trying to set the bullies on fire._ **

Jeremiah’s already eerily glowing eyes seemed to brighten at that last bit, and Oswald murmured, “Yes, well, he does have a killer instinct. Such a bright boy.”

Martin drew flames on the whiteboard with the other marker, the red one.

“Conflagration is such a beautiful phenomenon.”

“Alright, that’s enough talk of pyromania. Was there something about this Mr. Santos that I missed when I was in the next room, Mr. J?”

Jeremiah smirked. “Yes, Mr. Santos would like to visit you and Martin at your convenience. He misses the young man and would be happy to tutor him if you have the need in the near future. Seems his school is still closed.”

“Alright. Martin, are you amenable?” When the boy looked confused, Oswald sighed. “Do you want to see Mr. Santos?”

**_Yes please?_ **

“If you think he’s safe, please text me his number and I’ll give him a call next week. Martin, I think it’s time for the rest of the barbecue. Why don’t you go check on the progress of the cooked food?”

Martin smiled and swiftly left the room.

“God, I’m so sorry about that whole thing, Jeremiah. I can’t apologize enough for…”

“Shh. No harm. It seemed to help him express his own feelings about his condition. I’m fine. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but he’s a sensitive child - not at all malicious so it was easy to disassociate his inquiry from my ego.” He paused, then asked, “Did you really not know the cause of his selective mutism?”

“No, Sofia had never been able to get him to open up, and I never pushed the subject once he was under my care. I assumed it was some trauma but he never discussed it with me. I was more concerned with getting him safe and comfortable than getting him formally diagnosed.”

“I think it would be worth your talking to a child psychologist at some point. You might even consider taking him out of state. He’s very bright and it’s a shame for anything to limit him, especially something that might be curable with therapy. Let me know if I can help with any of that. ”

“Thank you.” Oswald crossed to the other side of the table and leaned in to kiss his guest (friend, Dom, partner... _boyfriend_?) on the lips. Jeremiah’s arms went around his waist and pulled him closer.

“What should we tell him about us?” Oswald asked quietly.

“Well, I’m no expert, but since he’s in the doorway right now smiling at us, I’d say ‘friend’ is not quite going to cut it anymore,” Jeremiah whispered. “Shh, don’t make any sudden noises or movements. No need to act as if we’re committing some mortal sin. Just play it off coolly.” Oswald rolled his eyes but backed up slowly and turned to return to his seat.

“How is the food coming? Almost ready?”

Martin set down the bowl of potato salad and made the “OK” symbol with his fingers at Oswald before returning to the kitchen to get the next bowl.

The two adults smiled at one another and waited for the little host to return.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, dessert, and desire.

Dinner was a relaxed affair. Oswald predictably stuck with grilled chicken and vegetables. Jeremiah, true to his circus chow tent story, easily downed 2 cheese burgers and a frank, and bemoaned (jokingly, of course) how much he missed the greasy french fries at Haly's. Martin ate a mustard-slathered hot dog and a few spoonfuls of potato salad and kept up his written end of the conversation - which thankfully avoided dangerous or sad topics for the rest of the evening.

After a refreshing matcha green tea cheesecake for dessert (a bowl of chocolate ice cream was provided to the little host when his nose crinkled adorably at the green slices), the grown-ups retreated to the den to enjoy their wine while Martin went to his room to watch television.

"So prescient of you to bring a dessert wine," Oswald mused, holding up the glass to view the amber color of the port.

"When you said casual, although I had no idea just _how_ casual it would be," the pale man smirked, "I figured it might be a better fit than trying to pair something with a mystery dish. I hope it isn't too sweet for your tastes."

"Says the man who plied me with half a dozen pastries for breakfast yesterday. But in all seriousness, Jeremiah, this is a wonderful choice. I haven't had an aged tawny port in years. It wasn't a big seller at the Iceberg Lounge. I love the subtle hints of butterscotch." Oswald pushed a crystal bowl of nuts in Jeremiah's direction.

Jeremiah popped a couple of cashews in his mouth to cleanse his palate before tasting the Fonseca oak barrel aged wine himself. "Hmm. This _is_ good. I'm not the aficionado that you are, Oswald, so I had to rely on the store-keep's recommendation. I'm glad he didn't steer me wrong."

”Maybe your holding a gun to his head helped him make the right choice,” Oswald snidely remarked. Jeremiah winked.

Since Martin had a set time to retire for the evening, when the appointed hour arrived he dutifully came out to bid Oswald and his guest a goodnight. His notepad in hand, he bade farewell to Jeremiah first.

_**Thank you for coming to dinner Mr. J. and I really like the whiteboard.** _

"You're welcome, young man. Your dinner party was quite the success. I hope you'll have me back again."

The boy smiled and nodded before tentatively leaning forward with his elbows out. Jeremiah caught on and leaned forward in his chair to accept a hug, as much as it chagrined him to do so. Oswald was helping him get used to such demonstrations of affection (still foreign to him outside a sexual setting), but they were far from the norm for him. He patted the boy lightly on the back.

Martin turned and hugged Oswald next, who then stood and excused himself to walk the boy back to his room.

As the youngster changed into his pajamas, Oswald checked his phone for any messages and waited patiently for the boy to climb into bed.

"You did well today, Martin. I'm very proud of you. Thank you for being so nice to Mr. J. and for...for sharing a little of your story with us."

The boy shrugged, smiling shyly. He took up his notepad and quickly scrawled.

_**Are you having a sleepover?** _

Oswald looked at Martin curiously, but there didn't seem to be any sarcasm or meanness to his question.

"I haven't asked him to stay. Would it be alright if I did?"

Martin nodded.

"You don't feel he takes too much of my attention from you?"

Martin was puzzled for a moment and then vehemently shook his head no.

_**He makes you smile.** _

"Does he?" The crime boss thought about their evening and Jeremiah's dry humor. He supposed Martin was right. The boy wrote a little more.

_**Can we have waffles for breakfast? I can help.** _

Oswald laughed and placed a careful kiss on the boy's cheek. "Yes. Whether or not he stays, we can have waffles. Perhaps if I tell him about the waffles he'll be more inclined! Sleep well, my boy." They shared a brief hug and Oswald shut the lights on his way out.

"So," he started as he returned to his seat opposite the fireplace.

"So," Jeremiah echoed, sipping his wine with a tiny smile.

"I have permission to invite you to stay over."

Jeremiah's surprised expression was priceless. "You talked about _that_ with the boy?"

"Well, hold on. I didn't ask whether Martin was alright with my Dom fettering me to the bed and having his way with me." 

Jeremiah laughed out loud. "Well, there's that at least!" Oswald took a moment to admire him in the firelight; really admire him in a way he couldn't with Martin up and about. The fit of his clothes, his almost luminous white skin, those sinful red lips.

"God, you look so amazing. I really wanted to tell you that when you arrived."

"I'm glad you like my 'casual' attire. I was never one for jeans, so this is the best I could do."

"It's perfect. Anyway, Martin asked me if you were staying over and I asked him if he minded. Not only is he is fine with it, he wants you to stay for waffles."

"Well. I'd even camp out on your couch for _waffles_." He tilted his chin defiantly. "But you haven't actually asked me to stay yet."

"I haven't, have I?" teased Oswald. "Hmm. I don't know." As he finished his thought, Jeremiah put his glass down and stalked over to Oswald's chair.

"You. Don't. Know?" He put his hands on the armrests and trapped Oswald in place.

"No. Convince me?" he smiled innocently. Jeremiah answered with a feather-light, teasing kiss to Oswald's lips, then pressed hot kisses down Oswald's neck. 

"How much convincing do you need, pet?" he murmured.

"Not much," Oswald answered breathlessly. "do you have a change of clothes?"

"In the car."

"Then, will you stay over?" Oswald ran his hands up Jeremiah's sleeves; the silk sweater felt amazing under his fingers. The pale man had shed his plaid jacket before dinner, presumably to make sure he didn't get any mustard on it.

"Since you asked so nicely," he winked, and withdrew to get his bag from the trunk. Oswald took a deep breath and followed to watch the man walk away in those well-fitting blue pants and then joined him on the steps for a smoke.

***

Once in Oswald's white carpeted bedroom, the two men shed their shoes and socks and the pale man settled on the bed and propped his back against the headboard with several pillows.

"You don't have to stay in those clothes Jeremiah, the door is locked."

"I'll get undressed shortly. But please, feel free to disrobe for my viewing pleasure."

"Maybe I shall." Oswald smiled, slipping his sweater over his head and removing his belt. "Were you hoping for a strip-tease?"

In the lamp light, Jeremiah could make out something dark under Oswald's pale shirt. The reason didn't register right away, and he became quite curious.

"Hoping isn't the word.  _Yearning_ is more the word."

Oswald quickly undid his tie and tossed it playfully to Jeremiah before undoing his cuff links and turning away to place them on the dresser. Now Jeremiah had a better view of the shape of the dark garment under Oswald's shirt and his stomach tensed in anticipation.

"Are you..." the words dried up on his tongue when Oswald turned and slipped the shirt off revealing a black lace corset that stopped just below his nipples. "Holy hell."

"Hmm," Oswald replied with a smirk. He undid his pants and stepped out of them when they dropped to the floor. He was wearing matching black lace boy shorts that perfectly showcased his growing arousal. "Does that mean you approve?"

Jeremiah gaped and shifted his weight,  snug trousers now even snugger. He blinked a few times and shook his head in disbelief.

"Ozzie. When you said you liked wearing lingerie, my imagination couldn't conjure up something this gorgeous."

"I'm glad it doesn't disappoint." The smaller man approached the bed and gestured with his chin for Jeremiah to move more toward the center. The pale man scooted over quickly giving Oswald room to kneel on the bed with his good knee. He swung the other leg over so he was straddling Jeremiah's thighs. 

"Wow," Jeremiah whispered. "May I...touch, Ozzie?"

Oswald nodded, reaching out to take Jeremiah's hands in his own, dragging the pale fingertips up bare thighs and letting go when they reached the lace. Jeremiah just left his fingers there for a moment, looking Oswald over with a laser-like focus. Finally, he ran his hands lightly up the front of the lacy shorts and up the sides of the corset.

"I've never felt lace before," he said wonderingly. "There was certainly no lace in my home," he mused, rubbing the fabric between a thumb and forefinger. "It's different. So much texture - somehow I didn't expect that." He leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the center of Oswald's throat. "Feels like nothing I've ever touched before." He took hold of the smaller man's shoulders and raised his head to meet Oswald's searching eyes. "You look ravishing, my pet." 

Oswald sighed and bent his head forward to rest against Jeremiah's chest. "Thank you," he mumbled, relaxing. He'd needed to know that Jeremiah had been serious about seeing him like this and wouldn’t ridicule him. He felt Jeremiah kiss his hair.

"Okay, now here's what we're going to do, lovely."

Oswald immediately backed up and awaited the command, hearing Jeremiah use a more authoritative tone with him. 

"Hand me my bag." Jeremiah indicated the side of the bed that Oswald had originally approached, and when Oswald looked over the side, Jeremiah held his waist so he could lean over without falling out of bed. It wasn't the bag that held the man's clothes, it was a smaller, brown leather satchel that looked to be the size to hold binoculars or a camera.

"What's in there?" Oswald chanced, hoping he wasn't out of line.

"Oh, this and that. And the other." Jeremiah pulled something out and tossed it onto Oswald's lap now that the smaller man was back in position straddling the pale man's thighs again. "You'll need to put that on."

It was a very simple ball gag.

Oswald's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You're prepared for anything, aren't you?" he murmured.

"Well, I knew I'd have to keep you quiet one way or another if I got to stay over. Can't have the boy thinking I'm harming his guardian, now can I? Now, please tell me those little lacy shorts have an opening? Because I'm determined to have you with them on, and I'd hate to have to tear such pretty things." He took a tube of lubricant out of the satchel and laid it on the bed beside them. "I'd normally love for you to undress me, pet, but I have no patience right now. Do you need help with the gag?"

Oswald was almost done putting it in place and shook his head, moving off of Jeremiah so the pale man could shuck off his sweater and slacks. Oswald turned around so he was on all fours, presenting his lace-clad ass to Jeremiah who tugged at Oswald’s hips until he was in just the right position.

He put his hand on the back of Oswald's neck and cooed, "Such a good boy, you are so gorgeous. And mine. Ready for me, sweetheart?"

Oswald looked over his shoulder and nodded vigorously, his lips obscenely stretched around the red ball held in place by the black leather collar. Jeremiah fiddled briefly with the lace shorts until he located the split seam in the seat (and he was truly grateful, because he didn't want to pull up one of the leg openings but he'd rip it the garment to shreds if he had to). 

"Did you actually make this opening bigger, Ozzie?" the pale man laughed, and Oswald made a garbled sound in the affirmative. "Very thoughtful of you! That gives me a little more room for this." He leaned down and pressed his tongue through the opening of the lace shorts and against Oswald's twitching hole. The resulting moan was just a muffled whimper.

"Hmm. I think I'll put the television on just in case. I have a feeling you're going to be a noisy boy even _with_ the gag."


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vignette in which Jeremiah bumps into a curly headed little boy during the night and they have a provocative and educational chat about pyromania.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold italics represent Martin's scribbled notes.

Jeremiah gently lowered a trembling and blissfully zoned-out Oswald onto the bed, easing the ball gag out of his mouth and wiping the unavoidable (adorable) drool off his face and neck with a cool wash cloth. He flicked off the television remote, brought his toiletry bag into the en suite bathroom and tidied himself up before tucking a now sleeping Oswald under the luxurious down comforter. Putting on a dressing gown that was clearly too short for him (but that still covered his unmentionables), he quietly slipped out of the master bedroom and padded down to the den to check his messages and have a glass of scotch. 

About ten minutes into his drink, he considered asking security to permit him on the front steps (ridiculous as he must look in this tiny robe) to have a cigarette. Before he could wander out to the vestibule, he heard a scuttling noise coming from the kitchen.

"Either Mr. Cobblepot has mice, or Martin's got his hand in the cookie jar," he chided from the doorway, having caught Martin doing exactly that: eating a cookie from a ceramic jar on the counter. 

Martin almost dropped the portion of cookie that remained in his hand, but quickly shoved it in his mouth and smiled around the melting chocolate chips.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, young man?"

Martin quickly scribbled on the notepad around his neck:

_**Shouldn't you?** _

"Ah. I suppose you've got me there. I was just checking my phone and having a drink." Martin nodded, torn between taking another treat and scurrying off to his room.

"Wouldn't your cookies go better with a glass of milk?"

Martin's eyebrow rose.  _ **You aren't going to tell on me?**_

"Do I look like the sort that goes around ratting people out? Get a glass of milk and another cookie - oh, and a cookie for me - and I'll join you in here."

Martin let out a soundless laugh and happily got down his favorite plastic milk cup while Jeremiah took a seat at the table. 

"So," Jeremiah murmured when Martin was settled in place, "you're a bright young man, aren't you?"

Martin shrugged.  _ **Poppa says so. I don't really like lessons though. Except math.**_

"Math? That was one of my favorites too." At the boy's surprised look, the pale man continued. "I don't know if Oswald told you, but I'm an engineer by trade. Lots of math in that."

_**So you build things?** _

"Indeed. I built, or assisted in building, quite a few of the skyscrapers in Gotham."

Martin's brow furrowed. 

"Yes? You want to ask something?"

**_But why do you blow things up?_ **

Jeremiah let out a quiet chuckle and took a bite of the cookie Martin had given him. "That's actually a very complicated question. I feel like the city has been in such a state of disrepair that one of the only ways of restoring it to it's original beauty is to tear it down and rebuild it." 

The boy didn't look convinced.  _ **That doesn't sound right.**_

"No? Why do you think I blow things up?"

Martin drank his milk and didn't respond.

"I promise not to be angry at what you write. I'm honestly curious."

_**Maybe you do it to watch things burn** _

Jeremiah stared at the words on Martin's notepad for a long moment, saying nothing. In his head, he heard Jerome. _Burn it down, brother. Burn it all down._ Words he'd purposely blocked out for weeks, not wanting to give credence to his twin's diabolical plan to gas him and turn him into a crazed lunatic. But the gas didn't do that. Jeremiah knew it had only heightened his true nature. He was always a dangerous, vengeful, angry man; he'd just suppressed it. Used it to fuel his ambition and get away from that dismal, unsophisticated, pathetic carnival life.

"I...I suppose there's some truth to that," he mused, astonished at how such a simple observation from a child could be so insightful. "Fire has always fascinated me. I'll tell you something," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I burned things when I was your age too, just on a smaller scale."

Martin's eyes grew wide.

"I set things on fire - first, hiding in a closet so no one could see me. Using matches or a lighter, I would set papers and clothing on fire, melt small plastic toys. Things I could easily put out so I wouldn't get caught. Always used a ceramic plate or an ashtray so the floor didn't catch fire," he added winking.

Martin smiled.  _ **I did that at the orphanage. Paper only. With Miss Falcone's lighter.**_

"Don't do it here at the house, though. Your Poppa would be heart broken if you got hurt. Fire is very dangerous and should be respected for it's power, not just it's beauty. Sometime in the future, if you like, I can explain more about fire to you so you understand it better." The boy nodded his head in agreement. "But only if you promise not to burn things in this house. Agreed?"

Martin held out his hand and they shook on it.

"Now, put your cup in the sink and head off to bed."

_**Wait when did you start burning bigger things?** _

Jeremiah thought back to Haly's Circus. Starting dumpster fires. Burning piles of fallen leaves on the edge of a forest. The fateful day Mark Juniper's small trailer burned to the ground due to _faulty wiring_. Then there was that _thing_ that happened to Teddy Torres on the outskirts of their far-from-Gotham campground 12 years ago...such a shame that, but accidents will happen.

"Oh, not until I was in high school where the experiments could be done in a controlled lab environment," he lied through his teeth. "Well," he stretched and gave a semi-convincing yawn, "I'm going to go back to bed now. I promise I won't tell that you were up late eating treats. Cup in the sink and my glass too, if you wouldn't mind." 

_**Ok and thanks** _

"Don't mention it. See you for waffles, yes?" He watched Martin's curls bounce as he nodded vigorously in response, then pushed his chair in and headed back to the master bedroom. He suddenly felt tired enough to try and get some sleep. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald discovers something about Jeremiah. 
> 
> Jeremiah dreams. 
> 
> Mental chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Please note the change in tags - there is a flashback that includes incest as well as child abuse.

"You know, you're not as slick as you think you are. Or as quiet."

"Hmm?" Jeremiah had been staring blankly at the ceiling moments after slipping into bed next to what he _thought_ was a sleeping Oswald.

"Tête-à-tête with an eight year old over cookies and milk, eh?" Oswald murmured, turning onto his side and propping himself on an elbow. "Telling him about the glorious days of your misspent youth as a pyromaniac."

Jeremiah chuckled. "Do you have super powers or were you spying, Mr. Cobblepot?"

"Spying, of course. Something I proudly excel at. As you well know." Oswald clicked the lamp on and then ran his free hand down Jeremiah's arm. The pale man turned his head to meet Oswald's eyes. "I see you two are getting along like a house on fire." He laughed quietly. "See what I did there?" 

"Mmm, very funny. Did you hear the whole conversation by chance? At least I can honestly say that I didn't tell you about the cookies," Jeremiah smirked. "And why is it that you were sound asleep when I left here and now you're as alert as a cat burgler?"

"Yes, well," Oswald said lowly, "I noticed no one joined me in my bed and the cold side of the mattress woke me up. The only reason I crept down the hall when I heard your voice was to make sure you weren't forced to answer more inappropriate questions." Oswald tugged the sheet down and stared unabashedly at the pale man's muscular torso.

"Nothing inappropriate. He was a perfect little gentleman." Jeremiah raised a hand to Oswald's messy bedhead and pet at his hair. "Don't scold him for the snack, please? I encouraged him."

"No, it's fine," Oswald agreed, moving closer to his lover. "You know, it's so rare for me to see you _soft_ ," he ran a finger along the side of Jeremiah's flaccid cock, still impressive at about 5.5 inches. "I may need to study it. It's like observing a endangered animal in the wild."

Jeremiah snorted inelegantly. "If you continue to poke at it, it won't be soft much longer."

Oswald smiled, scooting a little closer to take Jeremiah in hand. 

"What are you _doing_ , Ozzie?" Jeremiah murmured.  

"Taking care of you." He slowly, delicately began stroking him to hardness.

"You, ah...don't..." the pale man let out a long sigh and briefly closed his eyes. "Do you think earlier wasn't enough for me?"

"It's not that. I just realized I hadn't done this for you yet. Alright?"

"Mm hmm. You have such nice hands. Have I ever told you that?"

"Don't remember." Oswald glanced up when Jeremiah made a soft sound of appreciation. "Will I need to gag _you_ this time?" 

"Maybe," he whispered, taking his time to respond. "I don't want the boy to hear me. But not the ball gag." He twitched at a particularly _lovely_ sensation and let out a long breath. 

"Hmm. I see you like that." He paused to grab his tie off the nightstand and tossed it onto Jeremiah's chest. "Do I need to tie your hands or..."

"No, I'll be good. I can shove the tie in my mouth if I need to." Oswald warmed some lube between his hands and smoothed his slick palms up along Jeremiah's now fully hard cock. "But this isn't something I usually indulge in," the pale man chuckled, a little breathlessly.

Oswald glanced up. "You don't often pleasure yourself?"

Jeremiah hesitated and then shook his head. "Uh. No, I can't say that I do. Not often. And not like this. I wouldn't have the patience." 

"Just a quickie to get rid of an early morning erection then, eh? Too bad." Jeremiah pushed himself up on his elbows to watch Oswald when he traced firmly along the most prominent vein with a fingertip and then bent his head to lick up the leaking precum. When he resumed his slow, torturous stroking, Jeremiah whined impatiently. 

Pleased to have gotten Jeremiah to react in such a way, ran his thumbnail along the sensitive ridge. Jeremiah shuddered, something like confusion briefly crossing his features as he pushed his hips up. Oswald missed the change in his expression.

"Now, now. Stay down. I'm in charge here."

Jeremiah gave up trying stay upright and fell back against the pillow, eyes closed and ruby lips parted. But there was something very wrong going on behind his eyelids. A memory pushing it's way up to the surface that had no business re-emerging. Not here, not now. He shook his head to force it away.

"This alright?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Just... harder. Make it hurt a little." Oswald was only too happy to oblige, increasing the pressure and lightly dragging his nails up Jeremiah's shaft every now and then.

Jeremiah made an indistinguishable noise and fisted his hands in the sheet. Oswald licked his way up the blush pink shaft, took the head into his mouth and very gently pressed his teeth into the flesh when he got past the ridge.  Jeremiah hissed and put a hand on the back of Oswald's neck and with his free hand he grabbed the tie and balled it up, keeping it at the ready.

Oswald started slowly raking his teeth up the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head and then grazing the skin again on the way back down. The pale man made a frustrated sound when Oswald pulled off and resumed slow stroking with his right hand. He laid his left palm on Jeremiah's tensed stomach muscles and shushed him. Then, Oswald changed the pressure and direction of his strokes. He dragged the fingernails of his free hand up Jeremiah's left inner thigh and then down the right - hard enough to leave red welts. By now, the other man was trembling and he stuffed the balled up portion of the tie into his own mouth just as he made a panicked sound to let Oswald know he was close. Oswald's lips engulfed the rigid organ one last time and dragged his teeth along the shaft while clawing at Jeremiah's thigh again. The tie sufficiently muffled whatever Jeremiah managed to say as the pain pushed him over the edge. Oswald backed off and stroked him through the rest of his orgasm.

After sometime had passed, he felt Oswald touch his shoulder and he slowly blinked his eyes open. 

"Mmm?"

"You alright?"

"Hmm."

"Don't tell me I've finally rendered you speechless?"

Jeremiah's mouth quirked into a lazy half-smile. "Maybe?" 

Oswald tucked himself against the pale man's side. "You were rather...undone. I'm certainly going to add this into our repertoire now that I've seen the effect. So you like nails and teeth, do you?" he smirked. 

"Yes. I...you caught me by surprise." 

"If you like it that much, we could always get a pet iguana. Get some sleep now."

"M'kay."

"No wandering out to the kitchen?"

When Oswald received no answer, he shut the light and was asleep himself moments later.

***

There were reasons Jeremiah rarely slept deeply or for long. 

The first reason was paranoia.

If you're asleep, you don't know what is going on around you. If you don't know what is going on around you, something could happen to you or to someone you care about. It's best to just catnap long enough to refuel the brain while being alert to your surroundings. 

The second reason was fear.

Fear that that dreams would come. In his younger days, Jeremiah enjoyed some of the dreams, the ones where he was carrying out a deranged fantasy. But then there were dreams where he was made to relive his past. 

This night, Jeremiah slept more deeply than usual.

***

 _"Mother. Put the knife down."_  

_"Yeah, *mother* put it down," the redhead repeated menacingly. "Preferably down your fucking throat."_

_"You spying little bastard. How many times have I told you to leave us alone when I'm talking to your brother?"_

_"Maybe I'd leave you alone if you didn't put your filthy fuckin' hands all over him. Miah, go get a jacket and I'll meet you outside."_

_Jeremiah looked back and forth between his mother and brother and tried to make a decision._

_"Miah! GO!"_

_"Jeremiah, you stay right here. Jerome, get the fuck out of the trailer."_

_"With pleasure. But I'm taking him with me. Let's go!"_

  _When Jeremiah hesitated, Lila stumbled forward drunkenly and waved the knife in Jerome's face._

_"Mother, don't!" Jeremiah grabbed her from behind. "Please. Let him be."_

_"Fucking whore," Jerome spit out, smacking the knife out of her hand. "If you weren't so drunk, I'd knock you out. You're pathetic."_

_"WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING HIM?" Lila screamed at Jeremiah. "He's garbage! You're my real son." She spun back to face Jerome and spit on the kitchen floor. "I curse the day I didn't drown your sorry ass in the bathtub you...you piece of sh..."_   _As she lunged for him,_ _Jerome threw an elbow and got her in the mouth; she went crashing down, banging her head on a table leg._

_"C'mon, Miah. Let's get out of here before she wakes up. If we're lucky she'll puke all over herself and choke to death."_

_Jeremiah trailed silently after his twin without sparing a glance at the crumpled heap on the kitchen floor. He grabbed a light jacket and followed Jerome out into the cool fall night. Jerome took no such precautions, still in the sweats and wife beater he'd been dozing in when his brother's voice woke him up earlier._

_"Where're we going, Jerome?"_

_"I know a place, don't worry."_

_The boys walked through the small wooded area on the outskirts of the current town they were camped in. When they emerged on the other side, Jerome led Jeremiah to an abandoned wooden barn._

_"What's this?"_

_"I place I found last week. I came here twice already. It's got a soft pile of hay to lay on where we can get some sleep."_

_"Hay?" Jeremiah's nose wrinkled in distaste._

_"Aw come on, you're such a pussy. We work with circus animals and hay all the time, don't we?"_

_"Yes, but I don't sleep in the hay, Jerome." Jeremiah looked around for a semi-clean surface to rest his eyeglasses._

_"Well, you're sleeping here or you're going back to let that hag drool all over you again. That what you want?"_

_"No."_

_With that decided, the two of them shed their sneakers and tried to get comfortable; Jeremiah on his side with his back to Jerome, and Jerome on his back with his hands under his head._

_"Miah?"_

_"What?"_

_"We need to talk about her."_

_"She was drunk. She gets...confused."_

_"I swear to Christ, we should call the cops. It ain't right. You can't let her touch you like that."_

_Jeremiah turned over to look at his brother. "Can't let her? Don't you know how this goes? if I don't put up with her, she's going to get all bat-shit crazy and have one of those freeloading assholes beat you up again for no reason."_

_"You're fucking letting her put her paws on you so I don't get hit? Are you crazy?" Jerome sat up, fury burning in his eyes. "Don't do this for me! Jesus, I'd rather get beaten than have you get molested, you numb nut! What the hell are you thinking?"_

_Jeremiah shrugged, causing Jerome to roll his eyes._

_"Miah, I'd rather get a couple broken bones. Jesus. You're gonna be royally fucked in the head, you keep letting her play grab ass and touch your dick."_

_"It's not like that!"_

_"Tell me what it's like then!" Jerome yelled._

_Jeremiah turned away again, settling down into the hay. Jerome felt his anger start to melt away at the thought of Jeremiah trying to protect him. He laid back down, putting his arms around Jeremiah and snuggling up to his back._

_"Miah, tell me."_

_Jeremiah calmly shook his head. "Look, it's nothing. She likes to tell me what a good boy I am." He took a breath and continued. "Holds me and pushes my head against her breasts."_

_"Shit, don't tell me you..."_

_"NO! Shush. Then, she'll usually start crying about how pretty she was back before she had us  - how we ruined her body. And she'll ask me if I think she's still pretty."_

_"Yuck."_

_"I know, but it's a small price to pay to keep the peace. So I tell her she's pretty. She sometimes asks me to brush her hair. The worst..." Jeremiah swallows hard. "The worst is when we're sitting on the bed and she hugs me.  She's always wearing one of her shabby nightgowns. Kind of rubs her nipples against my shirt and presses her knee against my zipper."_

_"Aw shit. You have to stop letting her do this. Seriously."_

_"It doesn't happen that often. Usually a few days after we're in a new town. Her excitement of going out at night wears off and she gets lonely."_

_"That's like at least once a month."_

_"I guess."_

_"Fuck, no. I won't let you do it any more, Miah. It's abuse." Jerome pressed a kiss to the back of his twin's neck and Jeremiah sighed._

_"She abuses you too. Just...differently. Not sure its worth trying to stop it."_

_"We'd be better off without her."_

_"I'm not going to report her, Jerome. She's all we have." Jeremiah felt his brother's breath against the nape of his neck and leaned back into his embrace. "Owen will find a way throw us out, Jay. He hates you. Where would we go?"_

_"Who cares. We'd find someplace to go. Maybe Cicero would take us in. As long as we're together, we'll be fine." Jerome tightened his arms around his twin brother and held him closer. "I love you, Miah. We'll find a way." When he felt no resistance, he slid his hands under his brother's jacket and then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans._

_"Hmm." Jeremiah put cool hands around Jerome's wrists. "So, that's what this is all about. You're simply jealous."_

_Jerome snorted. "Of that clown-banging cunt? Not likely. Fucking whore." He pushed his brother's jeans down a little as he spoke and then slipped a hand into his shorts to jack him off._

_"Jerome," the twin warned halfheartedly. "You know we shouldn't keep doing this. Someone is going to catch on."_

_"Ah, I think you like the danger darling brother."_

_Jeremiah made a strangled noise as his brother's hand picked up speed and pressure._

_"Plus, I gotta keep you happy so you don't go looking for a little girlfriend, I guess."_

_"I won't, Jay," he whispered. "Just...harder. Make it hurt a little."_

_Jerome kept up the pace, squeezing harder with every pass along his brother's shaft, finally throwing a leg over Jeremiah's so he could get some relief for himself and thrust against his hip. When he clawed at Jeremiah's thighs with his free hand and dug his nails in hard enough to draw blood, Jeremiah went rigid and gasped his brother's name as he came spectacularly all over his fist and forearm. Jerome followed right behind, a little more loudly and making quite a mess in his sweatpants, but he was too turned on to care._

_Jerome was about to wipe off his hand in the hay, but Jeremiah tugged at his wrist._

_"Oh, right. You perverted fucker." He watched in amusement as his twin licked some of the cum off the back of his hand._

_Jerome cleaned off his hand and tucked his brother back into his clothes. He knew that Jeremiah would be pissed in the morning if he wasn't properly put back together._

_"Thanks, Jay," he mumbled._

_"Yeah, whatever, pussy boy. Go to sleep."_

_"Alright."_

_"Love you, Miah."_

_"M'kay."_

_Jerome slept._

_Jeremiah lay awake for most of the night, thinking about what Jerome had said about getting away from their mother._

_A plan began to take root; to escape Haly's for good._

_Alone._

***

Oswald's cell phone alarm woke Jeremiah up the next morning. When he realized where he was, he noticed that Oswald was not only missing - but his side of the bed was cool.  It was 8 a.m., so clearly he was going to miss out on the waffles if he didn't get ready.

After splashing some cold water on his face and brushing his teeth, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't something he did often before his change from the gas. He had hated how much he resembled his twin; hated how that face reminded him of how their relationship disintegrated, even though he'd long ago convinced himself _(liar)_ that whatever had happened - whatever he'd done to get out of Haly's - was all for the best. 

This morning, the bags under his eyes were more prominent. 

He must not have slept as well as he thought.

As he cleaned up a little more, he felt a dull burning sensation and noticed red scratches on his thighs. He felt suddenly lightheaded and had to grip the sink to keep upright.  _What the hell?_

Did he do that to himself? Like the last time he'd dreamed about his...No.

No.

He distinctly remembered Oswald touching him last night.

Would he have encouraged Oswald to do this?

He ended up brushing his teeth again after retching into the toilet several times. He looked through Oswald's medicine cabinet for some pain relief and swallowed three aspirin dry.  There were waffles to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I had said in the comments that I wasn’t going to include incest. I tried to exclude it but it’s always been in my head canon. If I don’t explain it in these flashbacks, one of Jeremiah’s primary motivators will be missing. Thanks  
> for sticking around!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one cure for what ails Jeremiah. And it's not Oswald.
> 
> A short, transitional chapter.

The wonderful smell of coffee and bacon wafted down the hall, and Jeremiah found the two Cobblepot men in the kitchen plating up a stacks of waffles and pancakes.

"Good morning, Mr. J.," Oswald sing-songed in a teasing manner, getting a smirk and a chaste kiss on the cheek from his guest. Martin smiled toothily at Jeremiah, who ruffled his curls with a pale hand and winked knowingly.

"I see you've both been quite busy. Is this what breakfast in the Cobblepot household normally looks like?"

Oswald smiled. "Sometimes. But especially when we have a guest. Right Martin?" 

The young boy nodded and gestured to a place already set for Jeremiah at the kitchen table where they had previously had their late night cookie rendezvous. 

"For me? How nice." Martin carefully carried a carafe of coffee over and waited by Jeremiah's elbow. "Yes, I'd love some. Thank you."

Oswald looked over, just realizing Jeremiah was mostly dressed already. He'd hoped to catch him in the short robe he'd apparently worn last night, set on the vanity chair when he got up this morning. He himself was wearing navy satin pajamas and a dark plum smoking jacket. Sitting next to him while Martin fetched the syrup and butter, he murmured, "Somewhere to be so early today?"

"Hmm? Well, I may have to cut the morning short. Something came up that I need to handle. But I didn't want to miss the waffles."  _Or let Martin see the claw marks on my legs._

"Oh." Oswald tried not to show disappointment on his face. After all, he'd had Jeremiah to himself now since yesterday afternoon and business needs must be attended to by both men.

Breakfast was pleasant enough and Martin used his white board enthusiastically to chatter away at the grown-ups. But Oswald could sense something not quite right with Jeremiah and pulled him aside as he packed up his overnight kit.

"Jeremiah?"

When all he got was a grunt in return, he tried a different tactic. Sitting on the bed next to the bag, he kept his head down.

"Sir?"

Jeremiah immediately turned to look at him, fully attentive.

"Yes, pet?"

"Can you tell me what's bothering you?"

Without even blinking, Jeremiah dissembled. "What do you mean? Nothing is bothering me."

"You're unusually silent."

"If I'm a little quiet, it's simply because the wheels are turning. I've got a couple of plans in motion - one of which I'll be sharing with you soon - and I'm a little focused on next steps. Apologies for being distracted."

Oswald took Jeremiah's hand in both of his. "If you need anything, I'm here for you."

The pale man gave a small smile and kissed Oswald's forehead. "Of course. Thank you."

***

"What happened?" Ecco said as soon as he walked into main hall that served as his drafting room.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I haven't seen that look on your face in months," she said, with obvious concern. "Cobblepot?"

"No, not really. He's...we're fine. I just...had a bad moment or two."

"Dreams? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" 

He shook his head. "No. Nothing like the last time. But...Oswald did something last night that, I guess subliminally, brought up some memories."

"Let's talk through it."

"Not now." Jeremiah impatiently opened up a drawer and pulled out a blueprint that Ecco hadn't seen before. "Take this and work on putting it together - you'll need about half a dozen of those idiots to help you."

"I thought the plan was to do the bank heist next?"

"I just...I need this."

She looked over the prints and nodded. "Lower Broadway. It's pretty desolate down there."

"I know. Minimal collateral damage. I just need to see it." 

She touched his arm in understanding. "I'll get it set up. When do you want it for?"

"Is tomorrow night too soon?"

"I think we have what we need. I'll call you later with an update." He nodded, turning away to light a cigarette. She knew better than to chastise him for smoking in the work area, and beat a hasty retreat.

***

_"Mother, why do you let him upset you so?"_

_"Darling, there's something wrong with him. He's always been a wild child and he gets worse all the time. I don't want it affecting you."_

_"Why would it? I'm nothing like him."_

_She stroked his hair back from his forehead and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I know, baby. But sometimes I feel like I'm drowning here and he's the rock around my neck, dragging me under. I don't want him to be a burden for you. Someday I'll be gone - and you're going to be somebody when you grow up. I want you to have a better life than running after your insane twin."  
_

_"I don't think he's insane, exactly. I think he's hyperactive, maybe even bi-polar. Perhaps if we could get him some help..."_

_"I don't have that kind of money! We can barely scrape enough together to eat, Jeremiah."_

_It was the same story all the time. Lila blamed Jerome's overactive imagination and restlessness on insanity. Jeremiah knew better. He read books about adolescent psychology at the library. He didn't understand all that he read, but there seemed to be treatment for children that behaved like Jerome. Medication. Talk therapy._

_But if someone diagnosed Jerome...they might wind up diagnosing him too. He'd read some things that described his own behavior. Things he mostly hid from his mother. His lack of empathy. No remorse. A bare minimum of emotion beyond possessiveness and pride. It was called anti-social behavior. But it might be worse. Psychopathy. He'd never believed anything was wrong with his lack of feelings. He figured it was a sign of his superior intellect, that he didn't bother with that nonsense. But a bad diagnosis would ruin his plans to become an engineer. Maybe it was best to just let it go._

  _"My sweet baby, so concerned for your brother. So selfless. Is it any wonder why I love you so much."  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged, Jeremiah flinching at the feel of her soft body against him. She smelled like stale cigarettes, alcohol and baby powder and a strange sweetness on her breath that made him think of sickness. "Come on, sweetheart, hug mommy back. I miss my baby's hugs."_

_Jeremiah wrinkled his nose. He'd never hugged his mother when he was younger. She had a very selective memory, and was likely thinking about any of her multitude of lovers. Or her brother. But it hadn't ever been Jeremiah._

_He put his hands carefully on her back and pressed his palms flat, without pulling her any closer. Ugh._

_"Mother, it's time for me to go work with the horses." Lila sighed, and let go, looking him up and down appreciatively._

_"You're getting so big. Big, strong boy. You'll be a man soon, my love."_

_He tried not to think about the implications of that statement._

_She rested her hands on his shoulders. "Bring back some smokes for me later, yeah? I think Cicero probably has a pack or two to spare. I'm low on cash."_

_"Of course, mother." He slipped out from her oppressive hands and quickly left the trailer._

_"Whatcha up to, four-eyes?" Jerome teased, when he came upon Jeremiah playing with some wires later that afternoon._

_"Building a circuit."_

_"Why?"_

_"Why? Because I like science. Y'know, the way you like art."_

_"What makes it work?"_

_"So, a 120-volt electrical outlet - what we plug our appliances into - uses three wires to deliver the electricity safely. The black hot wire sends the power from the electrical panel to the outlet. The white neutral wire provides the path back to the source, which is necessary for electricity to work. The green ground wire acts as the backup safety system. In the event of a short circuit, the ground wire provides a safe path back to the earth."_

_"Why does it need to be grounded?"_

_"It reduces the likelihood of being electrocuted. If one of the wires comes loose and the ground wire makes contact with the hot wire, it causes a short circuit."_

_"You gonna test it out?"_

_"Not right now, no. But maybe later this week. You want to help?"_

_"Maybe. Will it make sparks?"_

_"Probably. Might even make a fire."_

_"Cool. You're such a little nerd."_

_Jeremiah smiled, a rare sight that made Jerome's heart skip a beat. He loved his twin so much. It was hard to make Jeremiah happy, but he'd do whatever it took._

_Later that night, a few barrels were lit to warm the ground crew as they worked to clean up after the show. Jerome was playing cards with one of the other circus children by the light of the fire. Jeremiah stood at one of the barrels pretending to warm his hands._

_But he wasn't cold._

_He just wanted to stare into the flames._

_***_

 "We'll be ready for tomorrow night, Jeremiah. There is absolutely no police presence down here. The Continental doesn't appear to have been claimed by anyone, unless they are in the subway tunnels."

"Ah, that's probably where they are. No matter. Probably transients. Who'll miss them anyway. Will the roof be a good vantage point?"

"Yes. We'll have direct line of sight looking to the west. But too far for a manual detonator to work from there."

Jeremiah sighed dramatically. "You know I love to pull the trigger myself. You'll set the timer instead? There's no one else that I trust well enough."

"Of course. You know I will."

"Set it for 8:45 pm then. A little after-dinner fireworks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been so slow to update. I hope two chapters in a row make up for the wait.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filling in a little more of the backstory here with a flashback. Mind the new tags, they don't go away - so you might want to skip this chapter if references (no descriptions here) to incest and/or child abuse are triggering.

4:30 am. Jeremiah's favorite time of day - the usual time he either woke up or gave up trying to get any sleep.

Sitting naked by the window again, having a smoke and a cup of the hibiscus tea he'd bought for Oswald, he stared out into the darkness counting down the hours until he would see his latest masterpiece.

16 hours and 15 minutes away.

He took a long drag and held the smoke in until his throat and eyes burned and he got a sufficient buzz. Sleep eluded him last night, subconscious unwilling to surrender to real rest that might conjure up more of his childhood memories. His conscious brain was doing that already, thank you very much, after the dream he'd had at Oswald's.

At least this morning's recollection included one of his finer moments.

***

 _Everyone knew Lila Valeska had a problem._ _No, check that. She had three problems: a drinking problem, a drug problem, and a sex problem. Oh, and a Jerome problem. Sorry. Four._

_What they didn't know was she had a Jeremiah problem too._

_Here they were in a new town. New month, new town, same old shit. Transient workers dropping by to see if they could pick up a day's wage doing anything. Audiences too fickle to come back, even if different acts are promised during the length of the stay. Children (and more than a few adults) littering up the campsite with food and drink. And paper. Oh, the goddamn paper everywhere._

_And there's Lila. Flirting with the most disgusting of the new day workers. Burly guy, hasn't shaved in days. Peels her clothes off with his bleary eyes. That one's a sure bet._

_Jerome and Jeremiah are at the carousel. Jerome was pretending to play the organ, making the most god-awful sounds while Jeremiah stood there with a put-upon expression and an impatient stance._

_"Jay, come on. I've got to get some practice in. It would be just my luck that Fanny ends up with the stomach flu and I'll have to play the calliope for the next week."_

_"Stomach flu? Don'tcha mean food poisoning?" Jerome said loud enough for their Uncle Zach to hear. Zach scowled but said nothing._

_"Hey. Miah." Jerome was suddenly stage whispering. Jeremiah leaned in. "Check out Mommy Dearest."_ _The two boys looked to the right and saw Lila running her claw-like fingernails along Mr. Burly Guy's sweaty t-shirt next to the funnel cake stand._

_"Eww."_

_"Betcha a fiver that's who's coming out of her bedroom tonight."_

_"Who'd take that bet?" Zach asked, suddenly appearing behind them. "Everyone knows your momma will lay with anything that's got a cock. She manage to talk you into bed yet, brainy boy? Pop yer cherry?"_

_The brothers both froze in shock. Jerome moved first._

_"The fuck're you sayin' Uncle Zach?" Jerome asked, with a menace he usually reserved for his mother or random bullies that picked on his twin. Jeremiah stood stock still, a deer frozen in the headlights. "That's my fuckin' brother you're talking about!"_

_"Oh don't be so naive, Jerome. Everyone knows she's had her eye on him for months now." Zach smiled cruelly, gleeful he'd struck a nerve._

_"Stop." Jeremiah said quietly; so quietly no one heard him._

_Jerome jumped off the organ bench and started toward his uncle, taking a swing at him. Zach dodged out of the way._

_"Stop." If the others heard him, he was ignored._

_"STOP!" Jeremiah yelled at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the vacinity turned to see the commotion. Jerome and Zach were locked in a wrestling stance, and even they stopped their tussle to stare at the bespectacled twin._

_Jeremiah stepped up to them and pushed Jerome aside to address his uncle. "You're disgusting. You and every other cretin around here with your minds in the gutter. She'd never lay a finger on me, you fucking ape."_

_With that, he spun on his heel and stormed away._

_Jerome and Zach looked at each other with bewilderment, Jerome breaking eye contact first to go after his brother._

_"What's going on, precious?" Lila snagged Jeremiah by the arm as he went by. He just stared blankly at her until she let go of him, then he continued on his way. "What did you do, you little bastard?" she screamed at Jerome as he came past to catch his twin._

_"What? Nothin' - I'm just going after Miah."  
_

_"Oh, no you're not. Zach! Zach, get over here and teach this bastard some manners!"_

_"Wait, no! Miah! Come back and tell her!" He struggled in Zach's grip, his uncle snickering under his breath. He knew Lila would never believe Jerome, and the only one she would ever believe about anything was already out of earshot._

_Except he wasn't. Not really._

_Jeremiah had heard his mother and Jerome. Loud and clear. Knew what was about to happen._

_Still, he kept on walking._

_That night, Jerome slept the sleep of the dead after a good pounding courtesy his uncle's ham fists. Jeremiah couldn't have heard, otherwise he'd have tried to stop it. He always tried to stop it, didn't he?_

_Jeremiah lay awake drawing in his draft book, trying to shut out the noise of bed springs and grunts from across the trailer. Someday, he reminded himself. Someday that foul sound would no longer fill his ears. Either he'll be gone or that sorry excuse for a mother would be gone. But one of them will be gone._

_Her bedroom door opened and out stumbled Mr. Burly Guy. But instead of going directly out of the trailer, he paused, spotting Lila's purse. Jeremiah's eyes went wide at the audacity of this prick! He certainly couldn't confront him now. His mother would be passed out, Jerome was unconscious, and this dude had at least 100 pounds on him. But he watched._

_The dirt bag took 40 dollars out of Lila's wallet, swiped a half-empty (or was it half-full?) bottle of vodka off the kitchen table, and then barreled his way out._

_40 dollars? That was a fortune to the Valeskas. Lila had either just gotten paid or did something to earn that 40 bucks - but however she got it, it was theirs. Grocery money!_

_Jeremiah felt something that he could only define as rage crawling in his gut. He calmed his breath and closed his eyes. "Think. Think, think, think, think."  He wasn't sure he could get the 40 dollars back. No. But he'd see to it that the fucker would pay some other way._

_Jerome would likely take the beating for the missing money anyway._

_Jeremiah made the decision to watch Mr. Burly Guy, who's name was Teddy Torres. He watched him very carefully. Thanks to his new friendship with Lila Valeska, Teddy got to stay in the tiny camper at the far end of camp instead of in a sleeping bag and tent with the other day workers. The camper didn't have much in the way of amenities, but it had running water and a generator._ _Jeremiah figured out Teddy's work hours and watched his comings and goings. Generally, he knew what time he'd be back after mess and what time he'd roll in after carousing with the guys or banging Lila. He was quite the creature of habit. Teddy always showered at night so he could just roll out of bed the next morning and hit the mess hall for coffee before reporting to the repair shop behind the arcade where he worked as a machinist._

_One evening, Jeremiah slipped into the camper through the unlocked front door when everyone was eating dinner and Jerome was on clean-up duty. He memorized the camper layout (not a difficult task, it was barely more than a entry way, a mattress, a mini kitchen and a bathroom) and then pried the drain up from the shower floor. He covered the underside of the drain with plummer's putty so that more than three-quarters of the holes were obstructed, and then secured it back in place. He found exactly what he needed near the sink and tested it in two different places to make sure it was operational. Then he heaved himself up and out through the window over the toilet._

_When Teddy showered that night, he barely noticed that the drain backed up. The only thing he did was curse a little as the soapy, scummy water sloshed around his feet. Suddenly, the shower curtain was pushed aside by a broken broom handle and there on his toilet tank sat one of Lila's redheaded brats._

_"Hello, Mr. Torres," Jeremiah greeted him with false cheer. "Enjoy your evening?"_

_"What the hell you doing here, bastardo?"_

_Jeremiah eyed him cooly. "Why, I'm doing the Lord's work. Punishing the sinners."_

_Torres looked at him in confusion, the water still running and sloshing up to the edge of the shower ledge._

_"My mother has been so hospitable to you, what with spreading her legs regularly. Do you think it's nice to steal from her?"_

_"Now, I don't know what you think you saw, mocoso, but I didn't do anything."_

_"Hmm. This ring a bell?" Jeremiah held up what appeared to be two twenty dollar bills. He was wearing blue surgical gloves._

_"Look, let me get out of the shower. We can talk, yeah?"_

_"No, it's okay. I don't plan on staying. I just wanted you to know that I knew. In fact, I don't even want the money back." Jeremiah tossed the bills at Torres and they landed in the three-inch high water that was now splashing onto the floor. Jeremiah was on the toilet and unconcerned. He didn't plan to get wet._

_"That's all you wanted? Flaunt it in my face? You're nuts."_

_"Debatable. But no, I wanted to see you." Jeremiah smirked, casually plugging the twenty-year old hair dryer into the cheap, non-GCFI outlet. "Or, rather, be the last thing you saw." With that, he flicked on the outdated appliance and tossed it into the water at Torres's feet._

_It was over disappointingly fast. Jeremiah watched implacably as the man's heart struggled to beat at the same rhythm as the electric current traveling through the dryer. It couldn't have lasted more than 15-20 seconds. It was clear the man suffered agonizing pain but he never made a sound, just clutched at his chest and stared at Jeremiah in disbelief as he realized he was being murdered for nicking some putana's wallet._

_The bills Jeremiah threw in the shower? Play money from the arcade._

_When he was satisfied the man was dead, Jeremiah climbed out the window, calmly walked around to the front door and took real money out of the man's wallet. It wasn't forty bucks._

_It was only thirty._

_It would have to do._

_He stuffed the gloves in his pocket and took the long way back, tossing the broom handle into a dumpster._

_The accidental electrocution death of Haly's latest machinist was never reported to the police after discovery. Traveling circuses don't need that kind of negative press._

_Plus, he was a transient._

_Who'd miss him anyway?_

_***_

After a shower and a quick report from Ecco, Jeremiah got a text message from Oswald at 10 am.

_Hey. Miss you. Didn't hear from you last nite. OCC_

The pale man smiled and quickly typed back:

_Sorry pet. Thought you'd had your fill of me for a bit. Promise I'll call. Prob tomorrow.  J. xo_

He sighed and paced the floor. Only ten and a half hours to go.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald makes an assumption, but Jeremiah is unavailable to confirm or deny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter, but a necessary bridge between scenes.

At exactly 8:45 pm (and 14 seconds) an explosion rocked the lower West Side at the juncture of Broadway and Thames Street. Jeremiah and Ecco were up on the roof of Stravinsky Hall, Jeremiah with binoculars, to watch the proceedings from a safe distance.

The bomb that detonated at the 44-story Continental Arms was not from the same generator series that Jeremiah built with Bruce. He'd been working on different incendiary devices that cost less and were not as...graceful looking...but still got the job done. After all, those Wayne-funded generators were really meant to take out much larger targets and on a grander scale.

He viewed the destruction with an eerie focus, as if there was nothing else in the world. The explosion could be heard all the way uptown, and even without the binoculars, anyone with an unobstructed view of the West Side could see the building start to collapse and a mini-mushroom cloud of red and black rise. Flames licked upward through the cascading rubble and over to the nearby buildings. The whole block would be ablaze within 10 minutes, and without adequate police or fire departments, the flames could rage for hours.

Jeremiah lowered the binoculars after the first few minutes and admired what he could see with his own 20/20 vision. Ecco turned from viewing the blaze just in time to see the tension literally start draining from his shoulders. She shook her head minutely; such an sad man to have something so violent bring him peace. 

They stood companionably silent, side by side, for a good 15 minutes until Jeremiah's mobile phone rang. Rather than answer it, he nodded to Ecco who picked it up from its place on the stone ledge. She showed him the caller ID and he shook his head. 

"Hello Mr. Cobblepot," she greeted.

Oswald was a little taken aback that Ecco had answered the phone, and he wondered if Jeremiah had been injured.

"Ecco. Is Jere...is Mr. Valeska around?"

"I'm afraid he's indisposed at the moment. He's asked me to handle his calls."

Oswald frowned. "I see. I just wanted to let him know that my sources advise there's been a bombing downtown. What with no television news, I wanted to update him when I heard."

"Thank you. I'll let him know."

"Just tell me, he's not anywhere near there, is he? I'm...worried for his safety..."

"I assure you he's quite alright. I'll relay your message, I'm sure he'll appreciate the information."

"Thank you. Will...will you ask him to call or text me later?"

Ecco paused and glanced over at her employer, who had made no movement at all since she stepped away. She knew he could hear her side of the conversation, but he continued to stand with hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the orange glow reflecting into the sky across town.  "I will do that, Mr. Cobblepot. I'm sure as soon as he's freed up he will get in touch."

"Thank you," but before he'd finished speaking she'd disconnected the call.

According to Oswald's contact in the Germantown enclave near the scene, the area that was bombed was in Little Amsterdam. It was formerly a neighborhood on the cusp of the financial district but had fallen into disrepair some years ago. The particular block currently on fire was made up of an empty 11-story bank building, 5 floors of condemned apartments over a boarded up retailer, and a once grand abandoned hotel. There had been no running water in the hotel for years and so none of the current criminal element in Gotham had made any effort to claim the area. It was on the outskirts of where Mr. Freeze's territory butted up against Firefly's territory, but outside of both. There would likely be no reprisals from any of the newly formed syndicates, and frankly, nothing at all to be gained by the explosion. In fact, the action probably did the city a favor by leveling the hotel. 

In other words, why blow up this particular spot at all?

Oswald's contact made no attempt to guess who would have done it or why.

Oswald had a pretty good idea of the _who_...after all, there was only one person in the city right now whose M.O. was explosions. But as for the _why_? He couldn't begin to grasp what was to be gained.

And why didn't Jeremiah tell him in advance? Take him into his confidence?

Oswald didn't like it. The scenario felt somehow... _incorrect_...like a puzzle with a missing piece, or one so distorted it didn't fit back into place.

_Where are you and why aren't you taking calls?_


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift is coming in the balance of power.
> 
> Martin is so much wiser than he looks.

Jeremiah stayed on the roof long after he'd sent Ecco away, smoking and staring into the night. His mind was blissfully blank.

When he returned to his drafting room at 12:30 AM, he found a note in Ecco's neat script taped to the seat of his stool.

**_Home renovations are complete.  Property ready for your inspection tomorrow._ **

He smiled for the first time since he'd left Oswald's home over 36 hours ago. He dialed her number and she picked up on the first ring.

"Something completed on time and within budget?" he teased.

"Yes. I didn't even have to kill anyone."

"Oh darn," he chuckled. "Thank you, Ecco. This is really good news. Will you come with me to look it over? I'd really like to have the reveal this weekend, barring any major incidents between now and then."

"Of course, Jeremiah. We can leave here around 10 AM."

"Perfect." He paused, and squared his shoulders. "Thank you for tonight as well."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for. If you need to talk..." she reminded him quietly.

"I know. I appreciate it. See you at 10." He disconnected and put away the blueprints and assorted notes that were related to that evening's explosion. When he closed the file cabinet drawer, his gaze fell on Jerome's journal. He sat down with it and turned to a random empty page near the back and, on autopilot, started sketching out a small maze.

Two hours later, having filled five pages with tiny, complex mazes (during which he'd had to refill his mechanical pencil twice) Jeremiah put the book back on top of the cabinet and retired to his bedroom. Slipping nude between cool sheets he sank into the mattress with a sigh, feeling like a burden had been lifted. He felt a tug where adhesive pulled on his skin and he rolled his eyes and slid a hand under the covers to gently re-position the surgical tape on his right thigh. 

He hadn't cleaned and dressed the scratches on his inner thighs because he feared infection; he simply didn't want to have to look at them again.

Not quite tired enough to sleep, he checked the time and decided to attempt to contact Oswald.

**_J: Are you still awake?   (2:37 a.m.)_**

**_O: Yes! Call me?        (2:39 a.m.)_**

Jeremiah pressed the connect button and Oswald picked up almost immediately.

"Hey," Jeremiah said softly, almost apologetically.

"Hey, yourself." Oswald didn't disguise the relief in his voice. "Everything alright?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be? And why are you still up?"

"Oh, I don't know...maybe because my lover is a mad bomber and there was a _bombing_?" he snarked, but without any real heat.

"Ah yes. I got your message about that. Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Oswald."

"Really?" Oswald was incredulous. Was Jeremiah really going to play this off like it wasn't him? Unless it wasn't, but odd's were...

"Have you something to ask me, Ozzie?" Jeremiah teased, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

"Was it you? That's all I want to know. I've been worried sick that something happened to you."

"Yes. And I'm fine, it was a remote detonation."

"Good. I guess. Just..." he trailed off, at a loss for how to say what bothered him.

"Just...? Why do you sound disturbed? You know what I do, Oswald," he laughed lightly, reaching over to turn out the lamp on his bed stand.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were... _business_ partners." He made an effort to not sound like he was pouting. It didn't work.

"We are. Of course we are. Intel you'd passed on gave me some understanding of the general area and helped with my decision. As for why I didn't tell you, that was simply for plausible deniability. I wanted to spare you from having to keep a secret for me unnecessarily."  _Liar._

"Oh. Well, don't! Spare me, I mean."

He was met with a pregnant silence on the other line.

"Jeremiah? I'm sorry. I'm just a little frayed right now. If you say you're alright, I'll just let you get to sleep."

"Oswald, I apologize for keeping you in the dark. I felt it was necessary to protect you and Martin from any fallout had the plan been detected. We can properly discuss it in person, if you like. Maybe tomorrow night? Dinner here?"

"I..." Oswald fidgeted with the hem of his pajama top. "Yes, I think I can make it for dinner. Unless something changes."

"Fair enough. Get some sleep, pet. We'll talk tomorrow. And thank you for worrying. It's a nice feeling to have someone looking out for me."

Oswald's frustration melted away at those words. "Oh, Jeremiah...of course I'm looking out for you. I..." he sighed. "I care for you."

"Me too." The words slipped out before Jeremiah had a chance to check himself. "Go to sleep, little Penguin."

***

Oswald was reading over one of the latest contractor agreements for the bridge rebuild proposal when the Falcone doorbell chimed. He looked up at the clock on the mantle and was surprised to see it was barely 10 AM.

"Boss," the security detail interrupted, "Scarecrow out here to talk to you."

"What? Oh, for goodness sake. Doesn't anyone make an appointment? Bring him in."

The burlap covered villain entered the parlor as swiftly and silently as he had over a month ago when Oswald had questioned him about Jeremiah Valeska.

"Crane. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Penguin," he greeted, with that odd voice modulator making his tone deeper and yet airier. "We need to talk."

"Fine. Please, have a..." he looked at Scarecrow's odd getup and shrugged inwardly. "...seat. Coffee?"

"I'm not here for pleasantries. I'm here with a message."

Oswald felt a prick of fear in his gut. A sentence like that was never followed by good news. "Yes? Do go on."

"It's Jeremiah Valeska. You have been in contact with him since we last spoke, haven't you?"

"Y-yes, I have. What's happened?"

"Good. Tell him we are ready to make a deal."

"We?" Penguin clearly had lost the plot of the conversation. Or lost his mind.

Scarecrow made a pained sound like a grunt. "Me. Freeze. Firefly. Hatter. A few other, newer players. We received the message loud and clear and we want a meeting with him."

Now Oswald was really lost. But rather than show it, he decided to play along. He always did well with improvisation in his business dealings.

"And what makes you think he'll meet with any of you? It's hard enough for me to see him and I do business with him. What's in it for him?"

"We don't want any trouble. If we all have a seat at the table, we can work out something fair for everyone. I can't make offers in advance, but just know it's all open for negotiation. Just get him to take a meeting, at his convenience and preferred location. I'll be sure to get a quorum there." 

Oswald did his best to keep a poker face. This was nothing short of astonishing. "I'll relay the message, of course. If, by some outside chance he agrees, how do I get the information to you?"

Without hesitation, Scarecrow replied, "Make it work. I'll be back in 48 hours for his answer."

"Fair enough. See you on Friday, then. Always a pleasure, Jonathan."

The burlap sack stood and nodded. "Penguin." He scuttled out as quickly and mysteriously as he'd arrived.

Oswald didn't bother going outside; he lit a cigarette and stood at the fireplace pondering.  _What the fuck just happened?_

A small noise behind him had Oswald turning, unsuccessfully hiding the cigarette behind his back in embarrassment. "Martin. I thought you were reading."

The boy scribbled on the notepad around his neck.

_**I heard voices.** _

"Yes," Penguin sighed. "I had an unplanned meeting. Are you alright?"

The boy nodded. 

_**Did Mr J blow something up last night?** _

Squeezing his eyes shut, Oswald counted to three. "Did you sneak out to listen to my conversations after you went to bed, young man?"

When the boy nodded again, Oswald chucked his cigarette into the fire. "There's nothing to worry about. I don't think anyone was harmed. It was just a little...er...demolition work. He probably wants to build on the site so he started..." He could see the boy absolutely did not believe him. "What?"

Martin's brow creased as he thought carefully about what to say.

_**He seemed sad when he left us.** _

"I don't know what you mean." But he did. He knew exactly what he meant. And it worried him. "We'd all had such a good time together."

_**Maybe it wasn't us.** _

"Well, what else could it have been?"

_**He didn't eat much.** _

"An upset stomach?"

The boy shrugged and nodded.

Oswald pondered, but could make no sense of it. I mean, why not have some acid-relieving tablets. Blow up a city block because you're nauseous? No. That's not it. But the boy did have a point. Jeremiah was distracted and ill at ease that morning. Aside from a pleasant kiss on the cheek, there had been no physical contact between them. It could have been for Martin's sake, but...It was a mystery. Now, adding in this unexpected visit from Scarecrow...it was all just very confusing.

He'd simply have to artfully discuss it with Jeremiah tonight and avoid a disagreement. He didn't want to jeopardize what they had. His feelings for that pale lunatic were growing stronger by the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with most things in my life, I operate in bursts. Frantic levels of energy followed by crippling lows and inactivity. Part of my life with depression. I hope that my current prolific publishing continues, as it signals a return to a more even keel in my seratonin levels.
> 
> Enjoy, faithful readers.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lookin' for a new king-cleanliness a must_   
>  _Lookin' for a new king-accepting applications for a new king_
> 
> _One who'll deliver all he promises_   
>  _One who'll convince the doubting Thomas's_   
>  _Fill out the questionnaire, 'cause we're in a state of disrepair_
> 
> \- New King, The Rembrandts
> 
>    
> Jeremiah learns that his act of catharsis has a significant, unintended consequence.
> 
> Meanwhile, Oswald tries to uncover Jeremiah's true motives while educating him on the wearing of the crown.

"I'm sorry, would you repeat that?" Jeremiah's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

He and Oswald had just sat down to have a glass of wine before dinner. Oswald decided that sharing the conversation he'd had with Jonathan Crane was the best way to lead into...more delicate subjects.

"I said, the territory leaders want a meeting with you to negotiate a deal." Oswald did his best to keep a straight face, but it _was_ one of the funniest things he'd heard in months.

"A deal." Jeremiah repeated the words in that strange monotone Oswald had come to adore. "With me." Jeremiah's expression and inflection reminded Oswald of their request of 50 million dollars for the core relay - which seemed so long ago now.

"Indeed." Now, Oswald was smiling. "They seem to think your little light show last night was a threat. A show of power, if you will."

Jeremiah stared at him with those pale, silvery green eyes, clearly not understanding. Suddenly, as the implications finally dawned on him, he let out a peal of laughter unlike Oswald had ever heard out of him. 

He laughed. And laughed. It bordered on hysteria, he laughed for so long. 

Oswald wondered if he'd just witnessed a psychotic break.

When Jeremiah's laughter abruptly ended, the man wiping tears from his eyes as he caught his breath, Oswald spoke again with undisguised affection.

"All hail the new King of Gotham." 

***

After a bit of companionable silence as they ate, Jeremiah got that confused look on his face again. If he could still blush, the man would have been a very embarrassed pink.

"I don't mean to sound ignorant, Oswald. Or perhaps I'm just naive. But _what_ exactly will they want to discuss with me? After all, I'm just an engineer."

Amused, Oswald took a sip of water before he choked on his food.

"Why, Jeremiah. They are requesting protection of course."

"Protection."

"Indeed. If my guess is correct, they are discussing among themselves how much of a fee to offer you. In return you keep them safe from repercussions or reprisals. They don't pay, they take their chances. There is no real police presence here, after all. They've seen your very credible violence before, but you've been in hiding ever since the bridges blew. Now that you've come to ground with another terror attack, they know you're still here and that you could, frankly, blow the whole city to hell. They'll argue among themselves about acceptable percentages and then, ostensibly with a like mind, come to the table with an idea of what they should offer you. You'll negotiate with their spokesperson and come to terms. Then everyone goes their merry way and you start collecting cash to leave them alone. Your crew gets to bust a few heads if the money is late. Capiche? You effectively become the head of Gotham's crime syndicate." 

"A mob boss." He said the words with a almost child-like wonder.

"No, _the_ mob boss. After that meeting, you will have become the most powerful man in Gotham. It will truly be your city to run as you see fit."

Jeremiah shook his head. "What does one wear to such a negotiation, Oswald? You've been in this position before, tell me."

"I have. More than once. Wear something that makes you feel confident and powerful. It's an important moment - your appearance and demeanor will set the tone for how they deal with you in the future. You know,” he added thoughtfully, “I haven't really done anything with City Hall since claiming it. It's neutral ground at this stage. Rather than invite everyone here, we can have the meeting there. There's a large Boardroom on the ground level that can seat up to 50 people - for press conferences and the like - so it can certainly hold 10-15 ragtag syndicate members."

"I like it. You'll be at my side, I hope?" Jeremiah wasn't nervous _per se_ , but pulling together a team of low-level foot soldiers was far different from addressing, no, _owning_ the villains that actually ran things in this new Gotham. Scarecrow was the only one he'd had any interactions with, and that was just to procure his fear gas.  

This was surreal.

"I'd like nothing better. In fact, we can add to your mystery if I do the majority of the talking. But only what you've pre-approved. I'm not looking to get back into the catbird seat quite yet. I can be your right hand man, as it were."

"Perfect. Security?"

"I'll have half a dozen men visible on premise, others discretely positioned in case of trouble. You should obviously bring Ecco and your own personal detail, but don't get carried away. You don't need an army."

Jeremiah sighed. "I certainly hadn't planned this outcome or I'd have had contingencies in place. I must be slipping." 

Oswald found his opening. "Speaking of not planning for a particular outcome, what _was_ the reason for the explosion if not to start this kind of ruckus?"

Internally, Jeremiah rolled his eyes but externally just stalled for time. "Hmm? Reason?"

"I'm honestly still puzzled by it." Oswald said, watching Jeremiah closely. "I mean, by your reactions it would seem that wresting control of the black market from the crime leaders was an unintended consequence...benefit, really...so what was the actual purpose?"

"I was testing out a new incendiary device. More compact but less powerful than those used to blow the bridges. Really no way to do it other than to pick a relatively low risk target."

Well, that sounded plausible. It still didn't sit quite right, but not being experienced with a great deal of _bombing_  Oswald wasn't sure he had the required knowledge to argue the point.

"I see."

"Come here," Jeremiah murmured kindly, gesturing for Oswald. 

Oswald did as he was asked, leaving his nearly empty plate and coming around to Jeremiah's side. The pale man pushed his chair sideways and slipped his hands around Oswald's wrists to tug him close. Oswald sighed into the resulting kiss.

"You're still unsettled about the explosion," he said, persuading Oswald to sit on his lap.

Oswald nodded. "I am."

Jeremiah put his arms around Oswald's shoulders and brought their faces close. "There's really nothing more sinister than that, Ozzie. It was a plan that I'd had drawn up and put aside until the opportune time." 

_Opportune meaning I saved it for whenever I had my next mental breakdown, but let's not split hairs._

Oswald leaned his forehead against Jeremiah's, feeling a bit relieved. 

"Were you sick the other morning?" Jeremiah gave him a blank look. "At breakfast. Martin noticed you hadn't eaten as much as expected."

"He's a very observant boy," Jeremiah said with continued respect for the mini Cobblepot. "I did have a lack of appetite."

Oswald put his head on Jeremiah's shoulder to wait him out. 

"Not something I usually discuss," he continued when Oswald didn't press. "Part of why I don't sleep for long is I occasionally have rather distressing dreams about my childhood. I just really wasn't hungry after that."

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Oswald whispered.

With a soft look in his eyes Jeremiah tugged him up for a deep kiss as his reply.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little mini-transition. Just a self-indulgent photo opportunity for these two beautiful men to look amazing for their big debut.

The meeting with the territory leaders was set for Sunday evening at 7:30 so that no one's daily business would be interrupted. Jeremiah rescheduled any other plans so he wouldn't be distracted and spent time reviewing everything he knew about the way the city was currently divided and who was responsible for the different goods and services in the nearly two months since Gotham had been isolated from the mainland. The information Oswald had been feeding him since the start of their business arrangement was very useful, and he could envision each villain and their distinctive personalities. Aside from his phone conversations with Oswald reviewing strategies, Jeremiah shut himself away with Ecco and prepared.

Oswald arrived at the Stravinsky at 5 PM on Sunday to see if Jeremiah needed anything before he and his security detail headed over to City Hall for his appointment with destiny. When he stepped off the elevator, he was taken aback by Ecco's choice of aesthetic.

The blonde had her hair in twin ponytails and was wearing a red and black jumpsuit that resembled a harlequin costume. The most unusual aspect to her appearance was a pair of rollerskates (!) and what she had done to her face. In an obvious homage to her employer, she wore a layer of theatrical white greasepaint on her face. Her eyes were done up in thick black kohl and a dark red lipstick adorned her mouth.

"Hello, Miss Ecco," Oswald greeted warily.

"Mr. Cobblepot." Ecco smirked as she playfully gave him a little rolling curtsy, stretching out her arms and showing off her mismatched red and black gloves.

"Well, that's certainly a look," Oswald mused aloud.

"Isn't it?" Jeremiah's voice came from the left. "It was entirely Ecco's idea. I thought the skates were a clever ice breaker."

Oswald heard him before he saw him, but when he looked over to see Jeremiah stride across the open floor plan he was unprepared. The air was sucked from his lungs and all he could do was _stare_ in awe.

"What? Have I something on my face?" Jeremiah asked when he came to a halt in front of Oswald. He waved a hand to get Oswald's attention. "Hello? Penguin?"

Finally, just when Jeremiah was about to go back and check a mirror, Oswald proudly said, "You look...phenomenal."

"Oh. Thank goodness. I feared I'd overdone it."

Jeremiah wore a custom suit unlike Oswald had ever seen - and he'd seen (and purchased) his fair share of bespoke tailoring. The slacks were a midnight navy blue with silver pinstripes. The suit jacket was a matching navy and silver tweed that had a luster like sharkskin and blood red trim on the lapels. His shirt was the same blood red and his tie was an iridescent reddish purple that glowed rather than glittered. The look was finished with a blood red lapel flower, cordovan patent leather oxfords, and purple leather gloves. Separately, the pieces seemed ridiculous; garish, clumsy, almost clownish. But together, the ensemble was nothing short of stunning.

Jeremiah looked every inch a king.

Oswald had never been more relieved to have curbed his natural inclination to shine, dressing modestly and tastefully - his suit befitting his role as Jeremiah's trusted adviser. 

He and Jeremiah would make a formidable team.

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will have noticed, I'm working in Jeremiah and Ecco's season 5 look into this story - simply because I love where Gotham is taking their characters from just the few spoilers out on Twitter and Instagram. Photos are not mine; rights belong to Gotham, Fox TV and Warner Bros. No infringement is intended.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I knew you were  
> You were gonna come to me  
> And here you are,  
> But you better choose carefully  
> 'Cause I'm capable of anything  
> Of anything and everything  
> Make me your Aphrodite  
> Make me your one and only  
> But don't make me your enemy
> 
> \- Dark Horse by Katy Perry
> 
> The Gotham Underworld gather to pay homage to their new King.

After a quick kiss ("My lipstick's waterproof, little bird,"), and a query to make sure he had what he needed ("All I need is you at my side and my court jester with her trusty weapons behind us,") Oswald took his leave to head to City Hall and play host when the members of the various criminal factions started to dribble in.

The gathering included the usual suspects: Jonathan Crane, Victor Fries, Bridget Pike, and Jervis Tetch - dressed as their respective alter egos Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, Firefly, and Mad Hatter (gas dispensers, freeze guns and flamethrowers voluntarily checked at the door); new comers Mother and Man-Bat (Oswald didn't know what to make of them, but the Bat dude looked like a washed up 80's hair metal vocalist); and several thugs representing small gangs that had flourished in the shadows to capture pieces of the city. Barbara Kean was conspicuous by her absence, blatant disregard for protocol challenging the status quo. All tallied, there were 11 at the table including Oswald. Three seats remained: Kean's, Jeremiah's at the head of the table, and a chair positioned well behind and to Jeremiah's left for Ecco.

Everyone's security teams remained out in the rotunda guarding the entrances.

All heads turned when the double doors opened a final time at 7:50 PM and Jeremiah's entourage entered the building. As Oswald advised, he'd only brought four guards - two escorting from the front and two bringing up the rear - all armed with M16s. Jeremiah had his usual shoulder holster and spring action sleeves under his suit. Ecco was packing two side arms in a red and black shoulder holster and had a strange looking utility belt around her waist with all manner of leather sheaths on it. When they were halfway across the marble floor, Ecco roller skated to the front to lead them into the conference room.

_Wait. Is...is she juggling?_

Oswald bit his tongue and tried to keep a straight face. He hadn't been privy to this little act and he didn't know what to make of it. As she drew nearer, he recognized what she tossed in her hands and his stomach dropped.

Live grenades.

She turned to Oswald as she slowly skated by and smiled widely. "Don'tcha worry Mistah Oswald," she trilled with a Brooklyn accent so unlike her normal reserved tone, "they still got their pins in 'em!"

"Harlequin, play nice," Jeremiah ordered in his clipped monotone and she immediately slid to a halt and caught all three grenades, slipping them into their places on the utility belt. "Ladies, gentlemen... _others_ ," he murmured, nodding regally at the faces around him as he stepped to the head of the table. "Forgive my little jester. She's easily excitable." 

She lowered her chin and batted her eyelashes at Mad Hatter who seemed simply enthralled by her every move. Perhaps she reminded him of his dear departed sister Alice.

"Well, now that the guest of honor is here, I hereby call this meeting to order," Oswald called out. The conference room doors were closed and Jeremiah sat in the decorative high-backed chair reserved for him. It looked, not unintentionally, like a throne. Ecco took her own seat, hands demurely in her lap.

"As you know from previous proceedings, a quorum must be present in order to conduct valid business. Mr. Crane, would you please indicate whether or not you believe we have a quorum?"

Burlap sack nodded. "We do, Mr. Cobblepot. The only party missing is Barbara Kean or her designee." Eyes around the table all looked toward Oswald.

"Indeed. Miss Kean will need to be notified of whatever is agreed to. It will be her decision whether or not to participate. Who will carry the message?"

Everyone glanced down at the table. With one exception, all present were male and not about to head into Sirens' territory for any reason. Mother finally raised her hand.

"Thank you, Miss...er, Mother." The silent masked women nodded. "Alright, since Mr. Crane called this meeting to order, I motion that he or his spokesperson bring forward the question he wishes to raise to this assembly."

To Scarecrow's left, Mad Hatter said, "I hereby second your motion, without a clamor or commotion."

Crane's elbow shot out and caught Tetch in the ribs. "Ow!" he hissed at his companion. 

"NO RHYMES!" Crane hissed right back, garnering a titter from Man-Bat and smirks from Freeze and Firefly.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes and kept his leather-gloved hands clasped in front of him on the table.

"All in favor?"

A chorus of mumbled "Ayes" came from around the table. 

"Excellent. Scarecrow, you or your spokesperson have the floor." 

The man in the burlap hood nodded at Freeze, who stood up. Pressure from his temperature controlled suit escaped in a gentle whoosh.

"Mr. Valeska. We thank you for making time to meet with us. We have a vested interest in Gotham and bring assurances that we fully understand your capabilities."

Jeremiah acknowledged Freeze with a polite nod.

"We don't want to run afoul of you or any of your ventures." Freeze looked at Oswald, not knowing whether he was just Jeremiah's adviser or a full business partner. "But in order for operations to continue unabated, a meeting seemed prudent."

Oswald looked to Jeremiah, who caught the movement from the corner of his eye. They'd discussed certain signals in their strategy calls so that Jeremiah would know when he should respond and when he should let Oswald take the lead. 

"Thank you Mr. Fries. I appreciate the effort this group has made to address its concerns in a civilized manner," Jeremiah replied.

"Meetings are the place for civilized manners, unless you're a Siren and string up bodies and banners."

Freeze stared blankly at Hatter, who looked around at the table and then made a zipping motion over his own mouth.

"Order!" Oswald stood up and banged his fist on the table. "Tetch! Why would you think that this is the time for you to contribute another daft rhyme!" Hatter cackled and pointed at Oswald who flushed bright red. "Oh, crap. Yes, yes. I know. It rhymed. Ugh. Victor, please continue?" He sat down heavily and put his hand on his forehead.

Jeremiah blinked.  _These people are the dangerous villains? It's a comedy routine._

"Yes. Well, we come with a proposal. Uh, we all do some sort of business. Earn income in a variety of ways. So, in exchange for your consideration to let the wheels of Gotham continue turning we are prepared to negotiate..." he looked at Scarecrow, but of course, with his head covered with a burlap sack there was no way to read his lips. "extortion?" Scarecrow shook his head vigorously - that wasn't the word they'd agreed upon. 

"Expropriation," Scarecrow corrected.

"Tribute," Jeremiah offered as an alternative.

"Tribute? I suppose that's..." Freeze shrugged and decided to just speak plainly. "Look. A fee. We're here to bribe you to leave us alone."

"Way to keep it classy, Freeze," Firefly sniped, shaking her head in amusement.

"Order," Oswald reminded the table.

"What would be your initial suggestion for _tribute_ , Mr. Valeska?" Scarecrow asked, unblinking.

Jeremiah looked down at his hands for a moment. He pretended to hesitate but this part was well choreographed between he and Oswald. A little "good cop, bad cop" moment. He'd throw out a ridiculous amount and Oswald would appeal to reason and talk him down to a predetermined floor.

"I'm not an unreasonable man, Mr. Crane." He looked over at Yancy Chuighush, head of the Dockside Gang. "Mr. Chuighush. What do you and your crew charge to allow shipments into port?"

Chuighush, a slightly overweight and balding man, cleared his throat. "We get 28% over the price of the goods, Mr. Valeska, sir."

Oswald's right eye twitched when "sir" left the man's lips. 

"Twenty-eight percent. Is that across the board, or do you charge people different amounts?"

"You mean, like give some people a break cuz they can't pay more?"

"Exactly like."

"Across the board."

"Good. Because that's what I believe I'm going to do. Set a fee across the board, not a sliding scale based on ability to pay. Because frankly, ability to pay isn't my concern, hmm?"

A quiet murmur made its way around the table, some of the assembly more pleased than others at that policy.

"How about 12.5%?"

That, however, was met with a collective gasp.

"Twelve and a half?" exclaimed Seth Torduffer, immediately to Jeremiah's left. Torduffer was representing Ernest Wolk, a meat marketer; a butcher who owned multiple slaughterhouses and had taken to trafficking in perishable goods coming in and out of Gotham. "What are you, some kind of joker?"

The room fell silent.

Jeremiah sighed and dropped his left hand from the table.

Ecco, who had taken off her roller skates shortly after the meeting started quickly stood up in her stocking feet and clobbered Torduffer's right hand three times with a red handled ball-peen hammer.

His scream could be heard down the street.

Not quite what he and Jeremiah had rehearsed, Oswald was careful not to flinch.

Ecco holstered the hammer and, with blood spatter marring her white face makeup, returned to her seat.

"Certainly I'm open to negotiations. But really, name calling? That's rather juvenile." Torduffer was whimpering, cradling his shattered hand to his chest. "Though, to be honest that name had a nice ring to it." He turned to Ecco who agreed with a smile. "Remind me about that later."

"Do I hear a counter offer?" Oswald called to the table. He nodded at Torduffer's security to drag the man away as he began to go into shock.

"Although financials are not my bent, might we best offer a state tax percent?" Hatter asked of the group.

Before Crane could object to another of his friend's inane rhymes, he thought about what Hatter said. 

"That's not a bad idea."

"No, no." Jeremiah said, looking put out. "6.6% is the state tax in New Jersey. You're asking me to cut my request by half."

"Before you bring out your pitchfork, consider I simply meant New York."

Jeremiah looked at Hatter. "So you suggest eight and a half percent?" That was actually very close to what Oswald had advised him to accept during their discussions.

"Indeed I do, new Gotham King. Shall we all shake and vote on this thing?"

Jeremiah smiled and Oswald breathed a sigh of relief. Most of the people in the room were nodding in acceptance considering that only a few minutes ago they were looking at over 12%. But, even after the example made of Torduffer, someone had to go and mouth off.

"I don't like it."

All eyes turned to Barry Nouper,  head of "transportation services." His gypsy cab service was the best way to get around with all the Uber and Lyft drivers gone, and he had qualified men and women operating the city buses and a handful of subway trains.

"I don't like the amount, and I don't like your air-headed little squeeze playing whack-a-mole with Seth's hand.  What's with letting her in here anyway? None of us brought our gals with us. This is business, not playtime."

Jeremiah sighed dramatically. "Mr. Nouper. She is not my squeeze. Nor is she air-headed." He turned and looked to Oswald for approval.

It had to happen to _someone_ at the meeting. While Oswald hadn't anticipated the hammer incident, he had actually hoped that the broken hand might have been the only example needed. 

But...Nouper was universally disliked, so it actually worked out for the best.

Oswald waved his hand, deferring to the head of the table.

"As I was saying," Jeremiah continued, turning back to the group, "the harlequin is not as she seems. Harl?" Ecco stood up and approached the table. "Can you advise Mr. Nouper of your role?"

Ecco turned to Jeremiah and curtsied. "Sure, Mistah J." She smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd be pleased to do just that!"  She reached across her torso and pivoted toward Nouper, flinging a perfectly balanced 10 inch steel buck knife across the table, burying the five inch blade in the man's forehead.

During the ensuing silence, Oswald said, "The harlequin is Mr. Valeska's personal bodyguard. Any other questions?"

Smiling broadly at Ecco, Hatter said, "Seeing no objections might I suggest, we vote on the percentage to pay our fine guest?"

Hands were raised unanimously and the motion to pay Jeremiah Valeska 8.5% of all income as protection money was carried with more than the 2/3 majority required.  Barry Nouper was the lone dissenter, staring blankly at the far wall with a knife sticking out of his head.

Ecco made a mental note to collect her blade later. She had others, but that one had such a nice weight to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we've made it to chapter 30, and we've still got so much more of this story to tell. Thank you all for the encouraging kudos and comments. It makes such a difference. Love all of you, dear readers.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inject your advice to me  
> Incinerate our shackles
> 
> Come down to the black sea  
> Swimming with me  
> Go down with me, fall with me  
> Let's make it worth it
> 
> You rise I fall, I stand you crawl  
> You twist I turn, who's the first to burn?  
> You sit and stay, I don't obey  
> Where do we land in the black sea?
> 
> Grip your hands, I’m tired and what's your worth?  
> Watch yourself beg, hanging on to earth
> 
> Love-war-pain-life, everything the same to me  
> ...Where do we land in the black sea?
> 
> \- Natasha Blume "Black Sea"
> 
> Jeremiah thanks Oswald for all his help in the best way he knows how. Oswald gratefully honors his King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to some sexy!times for our boys. Skip this chapter if you don't want to read our lead characters engaging in explicit sex and BDSM activities. Please check out the song "Black Sea" if you do decide to read. I feel it describes J & O's relationship.

The place emptied out rather quickly and Oswald double checked the coat closet by the conference room door to make sure nothing dangerous remained. With his back to the room, he felt a sudden warmth behind him and two leather-clad hands rested on his shoulders.

"Everything okay?" Jeremiah murmured in his ear.

"Mmm. Yes." Oswald leaned back knowing that Jeremiah wouldn't let him fall. The pale man wrapped his arms around Oswald's midsection and rested his chin on Oswald's shoulder. "Is everyone gone?"

"Yes. Ecco stepped out into the rotunda to watch the door and give us a moment." Jeremiah pressed his nose into Oswald's neck and inhaled deeply of his scent - the smoky fragrance that lay so close to the skin only someone this near could smell it. He sighed, at peace with the knowledge that this - that _Oswald_ \- was his alone.

"I see, so she's going to throw a roller skate at any intelopers?" Oswald giggled when Jeremiah bit his earlobe gently in retaliation for the snide remark. "The meeting went well though, didn't it?"

"Indeed. Thank you for all you did. Even if I did detect a sour note at the halfway mark, Mr. Cobblepot." 

"What?" Oswald lolled his head back and caught Jeremiah's eye.

"Oh, you know. That wave of intolerance radiating from you when Chuighush had the audacity to call me 'sir.' Hmm?"

Caught out, Oswald groaned. "I thought I hid that well."

"From everyone else, of course. But not from your Dominant, darling. I sensed a mounting rage, passive aggressive though it was, for the rest of my conversation with him."

"Hmmph. Good thing I don't know how to throw knives. He'd have been the first casualty," Oswald pouted.

Jeremiah practically purred in satisfaction. "My sexy Penguin. You're so _hot_ when you're possessive." He slid his hand down Oswald's hip and delicately ran his gloved palm over the hardening cock he encountered. "Come home with me," he whispered, tilting his hips forward so Oswald could feel his similar state.

"It's so late now," Oswald mused with obvious disappointment, leaning into the touch. "Should we?"

"Late? Blasphemy from someone who used to stay up until 4 running a club. If we leave now, we can pay a little visit to _la salle de jeux,_ " he sing-songed in Oswald's ear.

"Jesus," Oswald groaned.

"No, no. Just you and me, pet. Three's a crowd," he teased. "Come with me. I'll give you anything you want." Barely above a whisper he added, "And everything you _need_."

***

"After you freshen up, meet me in the playroom," Jeremiah suggested, hanging up his and Oswald's jackets in his closet. Oswald nodded and headed into the bathroom, while Jeremiah continued removing his clothes. He browsed through the closet rack and took out the [leather pants](https://www.mr-s-leather.com/leather/leather-pants-leather-chaps/german-carpenter-pants), briefly considering whether he should just put plain black slacks on.  _But Oswald did seem to like these on me...why not?_ He quickly slipped them on and headed down the hall to set up.

Fifteen minutes later, Jeremiah was sipping a bottle of water and leaning against the back wall when Oswald quietly opened the door and entered. Jeremiah's eyes roved over him appreciatively but the pale man gave no other acknowledgement.

Per the rules they had agreed upon, Oswald was completely nude as he approached the mat; his limp, gratefully, was less pronounced than usual. He knelt in the attention position he and Jeremiah worked out: sitting back on his heels with his arms boxed behind him. He looked up anxiously as Jeremiah put the water bottle on the floor and stepped up to him.

"So beautiful." He took Oswald's chin in his hand and looked down into his sea-green eyes. "You look lovely, Oswald."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Jealous tonight, weren't you? I must admit, I found that to be incredibly hot. In fact, I very quickly got an erection at the table after Chuighuish called me 'sir' in front of you."

Oswald flinched and Jeremiah had to hold his chin tighter.

"Ah, ah. Not because he called me that."

Oswald relaxed minutely but his eyes still held confusion.

"Ozzie. It was because I knew you caught it and it deeply offended you. The resentment that poured off of you had me so turned on that I had to push my hands against the table to distract myself. I could barely hear what that poor fellow was saying over the roar in my ears as my blood rushed south. God, I wish I could have had you right there and then," he murmured, kneeling in front of Oswald. "Drop your arms, pet."

Oswald did, and Jeremiah placed Oswald's hands on his hips. 

"Tell me who I belong to."

"Me." Oswald squeezed Jeremiah's waist hard. "Me, Főnök, and I'll challenge anyone who tries to take you from me!"

" _Oh_. That word..." Jeremiah cupped Oswald’s face and kissed him on the mouth, slipping his tongue along the seam of his lips. Oswald opened like a flower, kissing back with as much passion as he could muster.

When they pulled apart, a lone thread of saliva connected them for a moment. "I think it's safe to say no one knows that particular title you have for me, sweet boy. I give you permission, not that you need it...to kill anyone that calls me _that_." Oswald smiled smugly.

"Alright, enough of this...hugging...you've somehow influenced me into." Jeremiah shook his head - surprised that he'd actually initiated it. He stood up and retrieved the water bottle, gently tossing it to Oswald.

Oswald, by now, knew better and instead of catching it, he boxed his arms again and let the bottle hit him in the shoulder.

"Ooh, very good. You didn't let yourself be tricked. Alright," he said, picking up the bottle and letting Oswald sip from it, "tell me what you want tonight, Oswald. Remember, I said you could have anything." The pale man backed up and leaned against the wall again, a good distance from Oswald.

Oswald licked his lips and thought about what to say. "I'd like you to restrain me."

"Yes? Cross or bed?"

"Bed. On my stomach. I'd like you to whip me."

Jeremiah's eyes seemed to glow a little with the idea of it. "I see." He stepped closer to Oswald. "How hard do you want it? Break the skin?"

"Y-yes..."

"Do you need to be punished for something, Ozzie?"

"Not really, I just need to...bleed. I want you to be the one to make me bleed, my King."

Jeremiah didn't even try to hide his sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, and something else please, Sir?"

"Yes, my sweet?"

Oswald looked up with puppy dog eyes. "May I please taste you first? I know you probably don't want to cum right now, but... _something_?"

"Oswald, you will _truly_ be the death of me. No explosions, no bullets. Just that silver tongue and what you do with it." He sighed. "I did say anything so...how can I turn you down?" He moved closer to Oswald, and the smaller man was pleased to see the outline of a partially erect cock in those tight leather pants. Jeremiah tugged the zippers down on either side of his crotch, giving his impressive package some room. "Is this what you want?" he asked lowly, taking himself in purple-gloved hand and stroking a couple of times as Oswald watched raptly.

"Please?" Oswald actually wished he could crawl into Jeremiah's skin, he wanted him so much. For a moment, he was worried that his feelings for this, well, _lunatic_ , were far more intense than he'd ever expected. But he pushed the thought aside. He focused on the beautiful, pale specimen in front of him as Jeremiah slipped one gloved hand to the back of his neck.

"Open wide, pretty," he whispered, guiding the tip of his penis to Oswald's face and smearing pre-cum over his waiting lips. Oswald eagerly gave him a few kitten licks, pulling a quiet grunt from Jeremiah before obscenely dragging his tongue over the head and then up and down the shaft. "Fuck, Ozzie," he said, so quietly Oswald wasn't sure he’d said anything at all. He took in as much as he could without having a good amount of saliva in his mouth quite yet, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue around. "God. Drop your arms, precious. You can use your hands if you want," Jeremiah said with a tense pitch to his voice, mesmerized as he watched Oswald's face, the muscles in his neck, the way his eyes fluttered as he sucked. Then he had a quick, regretful thought. "Just, no teeth this time."

Oswald's eyebrows rose, but he obeyed. Jeremiah glanced down at his leather pants, relieved that the open panel didn't expose the bandaging on his inner thighs. He let Oswald continue to pleasure him until he couldn't bear it anymore. Orgasm, as usual, wasn't his end game when it came to scenes with his submissive. 

"Alright, love," he said, not even realizing he'd used that particular endearment. "No more, _please_. I need to be alert. That was sublime, my darling. But remember I take care of you later."

"Yes, Főnök," he nodded, disappointed but still thrilled to have the taste of his Dom on his tongue. "As you see fit."

"Come with me," Jeremiah said, stepping away to let Oswald orient himself as he tucked himself back into his pants. He had spent enough time with Oswald now to know he didn't want to be treated like he was disabled, so he'd let Oswald get himself up from the mat - as much as Jeremiah wanted to help, he knew it would be met with resistance.

When Oswald made his way to the bed, Jeremiah showed him the restraints. "As we discussed, these aren't metal but they do lock - so if you need me to let you out of them, please use your safeword or the colors. Any preference on tools?"

"No sir. Just no metal tips."

"Yes, understood. I'll show you what I'm going to use the first time, then as we progress, it will be a surprise. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, Sir."

Oswald lay face down and Jeremiah fastened the cuffs to his wrists and ankles, positioning him where he wanted him on the bed. He gave Oswald a playful swat on the ass with his gloved hand on his way past to the rack of floggers and Oswald squeaked in surprise before chuckling at himself in embarrassment. 

Jeremiah picked different tools this time, feeling that Oswald could take harder strokes on his back than his front. He picked out a lovely purple flogger that he'd custom ordered - since he and Ozzie had similar taste in colors - with tresses made of silicone (for ease of cleaning), and a four-foot long brown single-tail whip made of cowhide. The flogger was fairly moderate in its delivery of pain, with the single-tail more painful. There was no way he would try out a bull whip or cat on Ozzie yet - the ones he had were too severe and he felt Oswald really needed to build up his tolerance.

It occurred to Jeremiah then that they'd never really discussed the extent of Oswald's experience - only in passing, not in detail. He resolved that they'd have that conversation in the near future.

He brought the tools and the water over to the bed, then walked over to another of the shelves and readied something for later.

Oswald shivered - not from the cold, because the room was quite comfortable - but from the feel of the deer hide tresses skimming over his back. "Have a look at this pretty thing - almost as pretty as you are," Jeremiah coaxed, laying the flogger on the pillow so Oswald could see it. "Alright?"

"Yes," Oswald nodded, feeling a blush creep up his neck. "Nice color, too."

Jeremiah chuckled and removed it from view.

He swung the flogger in a forward motion several times in the air to get some momentum going and then physically moved closer before smacking Oswald repeatedly against his right shoulder, careful not to catch his head or neck. Oswald jerked and moaned like a whore, but was clearly not being injured. The pale man took a moment to stop, walk to the other side of the bed, and repeat the motion on Oswald's left shoulder. Oswald trembled, no longer making noise - seeming to silently meditate on the sensations. When he was satisfied that Oswald was enjoying it, Jeremiah climbed onto the bed and straddled Oswald's waist, swinging the flogger (well away from Oswald) to get some momentum going in a figure-eight motion before bringing it closer and alternating smacks to either shoulder. 

"More, please Főnök!" Oswald cried out, wanting more pain, more impact.

Jeremiah smoothed his gloved hand along Oswald's spine to relax him. "Shhh. little one. I'll give you more." He got off the bed and retrieved the cowhide single tail whip, looking it over carefully before deciding to use it.  _i hope this isn't too much, precious._

Oswald jerked in surprise when the whip hit his back, but suppressed any cry. Jeremiah cracked the whip in the air once before bringing it back down, this time on Oswald's left ass cheek. The noise made by the crack of a whip comes from a loop traveling along the whip, gaining speed until it reaches the speed of sound and creates a sonic boom. Oswald heard the sound before it landed on his ass, so he was prepared - but it still delivered a sharp pain that he wasn't expecting. He cried out, and immediately called Jeremiah's name...but in an abbreviated fashion - calling him "Jerry" for a moment.

Jeremiah was stunned. No one had EVER called him _Jerry_ in his life...Jer ("Jair"), sure. Miah, well, that was Jerome's name for him. But Jerry? Never. He decided at that moment that he LOVED it. He cracked the whip in the air again and hit Oswald's other cheek repeatedly until Oswald broke down and cried.

"Jer--ry, please! Red. Red! No more!"

Jeremiah was satisfied when he saw the blood welling up in the welts he'd created with the whip, and tossed it to the side so he could lean in and lick the blood up. 

"Shh, sweet. I've got you." He ran his tongue along the cuts and the non-broken red welts until Oswald was merely sniffling, Then he got up and went to the shelf and retrieved the item he'd prepared in advance.

"Okay. Shh. I'm going to release you." He unlocked Oswald's shackles and gently turned him over onto his back. "I know i need to clean your cuts but I want to do this first." He kissed Oswald from his neck down his chest to his obviously aroused cock and then, without letting Oswald know what was coming, slipped a lubed vibrator into his ass.

Oswald lifted his head to see what was happening and when Jeremiah flicked on the vibrator, he dropped his head to the pillow and groaned.

"Not fair!"

"Hmm. We agreed on _anything _ , didn't we?" When Oswald didn't protest (and how could he, really?) Jeremiah went down on him and spent a good amount of time licking and sucking Oswald's very interested cock while the vibrator worked its magic against his prostate. Jeremiah quite happily swallowed all Oswald had to offer once he came, which didn't take long considering how horny he was from the flogging.

"Okay, sweetness. I'm going to clean up your cuts and then we're going to bed. In my room. Any objections?"

Oswald merely chuckled weakly and let Jeremiah take care of him - and even carry him to the bedroom.

There were a lot of perks, after all,  being the paramour of the new King of Gotham.

Long live the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Castello, who has been very patient as i work through my issues. Girl, I've been thinking about you even if it seems like I'm ignoring you. <3


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Need the crack of a whip  
> Need some blood in the cut  
> \- K. Flay, "Blood in the Cut"
> 
> He is a villain by the devil's law  
> He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun  
> That man's a snitch and unpredictable  
> He's got no conscience, he got none, none, none, none  
> \- Britney Spears, "Criminal"
> 
> Tabitha Galavan pays a visit to the new King of Gotham, and, in her inimitable way, seeks to gain something for herself. Jeremiah contemplates his options and gives her an unexpected answer. 
> 
> Be careful what you wish for.

Three days into Jeremiah's reign as the King of Gotham, he found it frustrating to have to meet with his new subjects. Grateful that Oswald had the personality to handle almost any of these requests, he sent some of the meetings over to City Hall and took precious few of them personally at the Stravinsky. 

He'd had a big, mahoghany desk added to his drafting room so he could look imposing and businesslike for these meetings. He answered his cell phone from the big leather chair behind that desk and was advised of a rather random visitor. 

"I see. Bring her up."

At the ding of the elevator, the pale man looked up to watch a leather clad Tabitha Galavan saunter into the room in high-heeled boots. He gave her a once-over, quite pointedly letting his gaze linger on her more _obvious_ attributes, before meeting her eyes. 

"Ah. Miss Galavan. What brings you to my humble office?"

Tabitha rolled her eyes and shrugged Ecco's grip from her elbow. 

"Came to kiss the ring, hmm?" Jeremiah joked. "Sadly, I don't wear one. So what _is_ the purpose of your visit?"

"Tell me it's not true. You haven't actually hired that rat Penguin to work for you, have you?"

Jeremiah stared blankly at her. He looked at the thick bull whip in Ecco's hand, taken from Tabitha's hip before letting her in the room. 

"You know, I'm rather fond of your choice of weaponry, but I'm usually the one to wield it." He gestured above his necktie. "You left me with quite a bruise after our last encounter."

"Yes, and you gave me a good gash in the leg. I never got my karambit back," Galavan sniped, arrogantly putting her hands on her hips. "And I'm sure the bruise around your neck healed a lot faster than the bullet hole Penguin put in your shoulder. Yet, he's working for you now."

Jeremiah smirked. "Mr. Cobblepot has atoned for his sins. I wouldn't say he's working for me exactly. He is a trusted advisor. What is your point?" 

"I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

"Well, lucky for me I outweigh him.  I heard about that little situation with your gentleman friend. Grundy, was it? That must have been painful for you," Jeremiah said, with a distinct lack of empathy.

"His name was Butch Gilzean. Penguin murdered him in cold blood."

"Well, I'm not sure you can call it murder. Wasn't the fellow a zombie or something? That would have made him already dead." Jeremiah was fascinated by this exchange - especially since Tabitha Galavan still hadn't explained the reason for her visit.

"He wasn't dead. He was the victim of a chemical accident." She paused for effect.  "Looks to me like you'd know about that sort of thing first hand."

"Touche, Miss Galavan. You're a sharp-edged little dagger aren't you?" he smiled evilly, baring perfect white teeth between cherry red lips.

"And twice as deadly," she retorted, stepping forward to take a seat opposite the desk. Jeremiah waved Ecco off when she moved closer to restrain the dark-skinned beauty.

"Why is it that you're here to see me?" he asked, sitting back and giving her a bored look.

"I understand that you're in charge around here now. I've come to ask permission to kill Penguin."

"I see." Jeremiah took a deck of cards out of his top desk drawer and began to shuffle them. After a moment, he placed the deck in front of Tabitha. "Cut."

She looked puzzled for a moment, but leaned forward and removed the top portion of the deck, placed it under the remaining cards. Jeremiah picked up the deck and fanned the cards out face down on the desk.

"Pick out a card, memorize it, and put it back in a different spot."

She smirked and nodded, doing as he asked.

"Good." He took the deck and quickly dealt out eight cards - four for each of them. He put the deck down and picked up his four cards. "Look at your hand. Is your card in there?"

She picked up the four cards in front of her and shook her head. "Nope. Not here. I hope there's a reason for this," she said with annoyance.

He nodded. "Check my hand. Is your card there?"

She turned over his cards. "Nope."

Tapping the unused portion of the deck, he cut the deck and flipped over the top card in the second stack. "Queen of Hearts, by chance?"

Her eyes widened. "How did you do that?"

He scoffed. "Merely a card trick. I'm no mind reader, though I am pretty good at getting to the truth of things. The answer is no. You are not permitted to kill Mr. Cobblepot at this time. You see, he is quite useful to me. I'm in a relatively new position here in Gotham and he's going to be helpful in showing me the ropes."

"You really think he's worth keeping alive just to coach you on running the underworld?"

"Whatever you think of him personally, you can't deny the fact that he already ran the underworld in Gotham twice. And was mayor."

"My brother was mayor too. Big deal." She smacked her hand on the desk.

"Hmm. But he didn't run the underworld. Twice. Did he?  No. No - he didn't. He ran some nonsensical cult called the Order of St. Dumas. Oh - and he's dead." He tossed the Queen of Hearts at her and she snagged it out of the air, flipping it back at him. He smirked and let it land face up on the desk.

"Look, you don't understand, you don't know his history. He's a snitch and a turncoat and a conniving murderer. And he needs to pay for what he did to Butch."

"Your personal vendetta doesn't concern me, Miss Galavan. I have need for Mr. Cobblepot's services and therefore he is under my protection. I applaud your common sense to come forward and consult me rather than just acting impulsively...but I have far more pressing things to deal with, so is there anything else you need?"

"What about the protection that you're offering the families. Does it apply to individuals who aren't aligned with anyone?"

"Hmm. That's interesting, but no. Why would it? If I tried to collect money from every citizen in Gotham, I'd be spending all my time knocking on doors. Even the tax man doesn't do that. If you work for one of the crime lords, they are the ones to pay the fee. If you don't work for one of them, your safety is none of my concern. Now, if you've nothing else, this has been a lovely chat but I need to get back to it. Ecco, please..."

"Wait! There is something else." Tabitha lowered her hands and looked earnestly at him. "If I can't get protection any other way, I need work."

Jeremiah steepled his fingers and smirked. "Really. What is it that you propose to do for me? Are you stealthy and fast? A good thief?"

"No. That was Selena. Maybe you should have thought about that before you shot her."

"I get it. You and Bruce Wayne are both sore about that. What _can_ you do for me?" He looked her over again, one eyebrow raised, internally recoiling at the spill of her bosom over the tight leather top. 

She stood up, disgusted, nearly kicking over the chair in her haste to back up and raised her hands. "I'm not a prostitute."

"Relax," he chuckled. "What you _are_ , is too defensive. As attractive as you are, I'm afraid you don't have the parts I'd be interested in." He looked a little more closely at her. "At least I don't think you do..."

Tabitha dropped her arms and relaxed. "Oh. I see..."

Jeremiah leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "At any time did I come across as heterosexual? I'll have to work on that."

"I don't think I had time to think about your orientation when you had me pinned to the floor with a knife at my throat." He beckoned her forward with a curled finger and she resumed her place in the chair.

"What can you do for me, Miss Galavan?"

"Kill. Okay? I'm pretty good at killing people. Do you need me to provide my body count as a reference?"

He shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Your reputation precedes you. You're known as a bit of a ninja. Good with that whip, even better with knives. How good are you with guns?"

"I can hold my own."

He gazed down at his desk as if deliberating.

"I have no loyalty to my employees other than Ecco. I won't hesitate to kill you if you cross me. Or I could always kill _your_ Queen of Hearts." He tapped the card lying next to the cut deck. Gathering up all the cards and mindlessly shuffling them he asked, "Why aren't you going to her for work?"

"Barbara? We, uh, had a little falling out."

"Really. Over her misandry? Good decision." He put the deck down. "That is quite an ideology she espouses. I'd break from her ranks permanently if I were you. I greatly admire the female species - after all, my bodyguard is a woman - but I'd never expect an army of women to defeat a criminal syndicate primarily made up of men." He paused. "Men dressed in costumes, some of them...but men nonetheless," he quipped as an aside.

"Her methods are more drastic than I'd expected," Tabitha agreed reluctantly. "I never wanted to declare a war on _men_. Just on Cobblepot," she added morosely.

"If I hire you, you are forbidden to harm Cobblepot until I am done with him. I need your word on this - it won't do at all for you to disobey me. Patience will need to be your constant companion."

"But..."

"No buts." His tone brooked no argument, and Tabitha was actually frightened for a moment by the dangerous look in his pale eyes. "It's well known that I only hire skilled people and I pay well. But I don't tolerate disrespect. If you can endure for a period of time, we'll have this conversation again down the line. Do we have a deal?"

She nodded. Jeremiah did not offer his hand nor did she extend hers.

"Ecco, please take Miss Galavan to the armory." His eyes flicked to Tabitha and back to Ecco. "Let her look over the firearms and, time permitting, show her the iron box."

"Iron box?" Tabitha asked, intrigued. "Sounds like something Ra's al Guhl would have had. Like that crazy medieval knife."

"Oh, nothing quite that elaborate. We don't let everyone have access to it, but you might be a good candidate." 

"Sir," Ecco replied, taking Tabitha by the elbow only to be shrugged off again.

"Play nice, Tabitha, dear," Jeremiah said in a flat tone, cutting the deck again and flipping over the top card. He smiled knowingly and slipped it behind his pocket square.

***

When Tabitha came to an hour later, she groaned and rubbed the back of her head where an egg-sized lump had formed. She felt a little dizzy and almost nauseous and wondered briefly if she had a concussion. Then she blinked her eyes in shock. She was slumped on the floor of a very narrow cage about the size of an old-fashioned telephone booth. Just the right size for one person and not a lot of room to move around. She stood shakily, holding onto the bars for support.

"Hey! Hey, let me out of here!" she shouted, rotating around the small enclosure looking for escape. When she found where the door appeared to be, she rattled the bars and kicked at the back side of the locking mechanism. "Get me the hell out of here!"

A slow clap from the left got her attention. 

"Jeremiah! Get me out of this contraption," she seethed. "Your blonde bodyguard was a little over-enthusiastic."

"I'm surprised you couldn't defend yourself, Miss Galavan. Not as much of a ninja as the stories say."

"Well, you didn't tell me she was krav maga," she sneered. "Now let me out, I'm sure I have people to kill for you."

"About that." Jeremiah picked up a nearby stool and sat a distance from the cage so Tabitha couldn't catch him with her fingernails. She'd been fully disarmed before being placed in the cage, but Jeremiah didn't need another nasty scratch to deal with. "I'm afraid there isn't a suitable opening for you."

She stared dumbstruck at him. He sat quietly with his now-gloved hands on his thighs waiting for her to realize the gravity of the situation.

"You see," he started, when she continued to stare, shock turning to bewilderment, "when you disrespect my people you disrespect me. You're too volatile to be brought into my ranks, and too single minded to be left on your own." 

"I didn't disrespect your _people_ ," she grit out through clenched teeth. "Only that toad. And I did nothing to resist Ecco. If you didn’t want me to work for you, why bring me down here?”

"Why, to give you your just desserts, of course. _Darling_ ,” he called out, “you can come in now."

A door at the side of the armory slammed open, and Tabitha cringed at the familiar uneven tapping of dress shoes on the floor. He appeared in her view, dressed as dapper as always, clutching a pistol in his right hand.

"Penguin," she spit with as much venom as she could, her mouth long gone dry.

Jeremiah stood, and Penguin stopped at his side, visibly trembling with rage. "Now, now. It's alright, my pet." He rested his gloved hand on Oswald's neck to calm him, and Oswald looked up at him with what could only be described as rapt adoration.

"Oh, shit." She murmured. "You're lovers? How did I not figure this out?" She rattled the bars uselessly just to have something to do.

"I'm afraid your hubris blinded you to the possibility, Miss Galavan. Mr. Cobblepot is not only my trusted associate but my partner. In _every_ way." He glanced at Oswald, who was now much more collected. "You not only don't have my permission to kill him now, you don't have my permission to kill him _ever_. Oswald, on the other hand..."

"You sniveling little weasel,” she turned to Oswald. “You couldn't come after me yourself? Had to get Valeska to kidnap me? It’s like shooting fish in a barrel!" she raged, again looking at Jeremiah.

"Exactly like. Or like a tigress in an iron box...er, cage.” Jeremiah smiled, sliding the playing card out of his pocket. "I almost wish I could send you back out into Gotham with this as a warning to others." He held the card up so she could see it.

"The Joker? I don't get it."

"It's a wild card, dear. If you plan to make a deal with the devil, expect the devil to have his fingers crossed. Or to blatantly lie. I have no skin in this game," he nodded at the cage and at Oswald, "other than to ensure Oswald's safety. He, on the other hand, has a score to settle. So, here he is. Oswald?"

Quivering with energy, Oswald stepped closer to the cage. He didn't care about scratches, but Tabitha would make no move toward him. Why would she? She had let her guard down and knew she had lost.

"You stabbed my mother _in_. _the_. _back_. Couldn't even have the decency to kill her while facing her. I wish I could have let you suffer longer. But I'll give you the courtesy you never gave her."

She squared her shoulders and stared Oswald down, never blinking as the report rang through the armory and she slumped dead to the floor of the cage, a bullet between her eyes. 

Jeremiah tossed the joker card onto her lifeless form and called Ecco. "Take out the trash, would you?"

Oswald stood quietly, still seething with rage. 

"I don't feel any better."

"I didn't think you would. But at least it's done. Shall we drop this present off at the Sirens?"

Oswald shook his head. "I'd advise against it. Your leadership is too new, too fragile to declare war on her right now. Let her wonder what happened to the bitch."

"Right. Acid it is, then."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't you ever leave me, don't you ever go  
> I've seen it on TV, I know how it goes  
> Even when I'm angry, even when you're cold  
> Don't you ever leave me, don't leave me alone
> 
> \- David Guetta, "Don't Leave Me Alone"
> 
>    
> The boys' lives are about to get a little more complicated. Jeremiah isn't emotional like Oswald and Oswald can't keep his mouth shut. 
> 
> In other words, Jeremiah finally takes Oswald to see the house. He's not prepared for Oswald's reaction(s).
> 
> Angst ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the liberty of swapping the perspective of the lyric:  
> "Even when you're angry, even when I'm cold"
> 
> It fits the chapter better.

"Oswald."

When Jeremiah didn't get an answer, he nodded for Ecco to finish up with the body bag. He made sure his shoes made enough noise on the floor so he wouldn't startle Penguin when he came up behind him.

"Ozzie," he murmured, gently grasping Penguin's upper arms. Oswald turned, eyes tired. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. It feels somewhat anti-climatic." He shrugged, and Jeremiah dropped his hands away.

"Yes, it must have been an emotional morning for you. Do you have any pressing appointments later?"

"I don't think so? I can cancel them if I do. Why?"

"If you don't, come with me for a drive. There's something I'd planned to show you over the weekend. But the whole, you know, _King of Gotham_ business got in the way," he chuckled.

"A drive? I guess that would be okay."

"Good. Let's go upstairs - I need to get something and then I'll have the car brought around for us."

***

When they neared their destination, Oswald started noticing a familiarity to the surroundings. 

"Are we going to Wayne Manor?"

Jeremiah startled. "Uh, no. No, but we aren't far from that general area. Almost there."

"There are just so many trees. I remember taking a road very similar to this to get to my father's..." Oswald's words cut off as the car emerged from the woods. "...home," he finished in a whisper. 

The car road up the stately drive and Oswald became visibly upset.

"Jeremiah? Why...why on _earth_ would you bring me here?" 

"You'll see. Let's get out and..."

"No!" Oswald shrieked, panic stricken. "I don't want to see what's been done to destroy my father's legacy! Why would you want me to do that?" He shoved Jeremiah's hands away when the man reached over to calm him.

"Let me explain."

Oswald shook his head and then threw the car door open, rushing out and hobbling quickly down the driveway.

"Shit," Jeremiah said under his breath, following after him.  _He sure can put on some speed when he's pissed off._

"Oswald. Wait!" He caught up to him easily enough, but trying to get close was like cornering an angry cat with its tail fluffed out, hissing and spitting. As soon as he moved in front of him, Oswald's switchblade was out and glittering in the sunlight. 

"Do. Not. _Touch_. Me." Oswald warned, waving the blade at Jeremiah and disregarding the boundaries of their personal relationship. "This is a betrayal of the _worst_ kind. So you brought me here to gawk at the ruins of my life? After what I've been through? I can't do this! I thought I knew you, but..."

"Look around, Oswald. Does it look like the property is in disrepair?"

Oswald stopped ranting for a moment, out of breath, and looked over his shoulder at the manicured lawn, healthy shrubbery, and freshly varnished mahogany doors.

"What?"

Jeremiah stepped closer. "Look. This was a bad idea today. I should have considered your emotional state, but I thought this might cheer you. There were no ill intentions."

Oswald turned around to fully appreciate the grounds. "But why does it look like someone has taken care of the landscaping?"

"Not just the landscaping, Oswald. There have been some restorations. I took the liberty of cleaning the place up."

Turning back to Jeremiah, Oswald's face still reflected distrust and hurt. " _You_ did this? What, do you own it now? Scooped it up for a song so you could turn a tidy profit? How could you! This is cold even for _you_!"

Jeremiah reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. "No, _I_ don't own it." His purple-gloved hand extended the deed to Oswald. " _You_ do."

Oswald dropped the switchblade on the paved driveway and snatched the papers from the pale man. It was the title to the very property they were standing on, the Elijah Van Dahl estate. It was deeded to one Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Jeremiah's name was nowhere in the documentation.

"I don't understand."

Jeremiah stayed silent, realizing, albeit too late, that Oswald wouldn't listen until he was ready.

"The deed is in _my_ name," Oswald breathed, stunned.

He turned away and walked toward the house. Jeremiah picked up and folded Oswald's knife, tucking it in his coat pocket before removing his gloves and calmly lighting a cigarette. While Oswald slowly made his way to the front door, Jeremiah leaned against the side of the car as he smoked. The driver wisely stared straight ahead, pretending to be oblivious to the drama playing outside his windows.

Oswald's hand froze on the door handle after he’d used the key taped in the packet of papers.

"Are you coming?" he yelled back to Jeremiah. The pale man raised his hands in surrender, snuffed out the cigarette with his heel, and silently strode to the front steps.

"You sure you want me here?" he asked quietly when he was at Oswald's side. Oswald dismissed the question with a scoff and pushed the door open. 

He'd expected cobwebs, animal feces, fossilized bugs, and the smell of death in the air. Instead, there was a clean, elegant jasmine scent wafting through the hallway and not a creature in sight. Jeremiah flicked on the light switch.

"The electric is on," Oswald stated stupidly, looking up at the crystal chandelier that was in pristine, sparkling condition.

"The electric, and the gas, phone, cable, internet services are all activated. Oil in the heating tank and fireplace flues cleaned out and ready for use. Dry goods stocked in the kitchen."

Oswald stared at Jeremiah in complete disbelief.

"Go on. Walk through. I'd try the library first."

Oswald cringed, but moved down the hall until he reached the open doorway to his favorite room. His father's favorite room. The room where the man's portrait hung over the fireplace and was surely destroyed by the hooligans that had crashed here all these months.

"Oh my God."

There it was, hanging straight and sturdy, in perfect condition.

"It was blissfully unharmed," Jeremiah quietly pointed out. "Remarkable, actually, as the ceiling and walls weren't nearly as lucky. Replaced the wallpaper as near to the original as we could come, but the real work was in refinishing these fine wood floors. Also kept the upholstery as tastefully modest as it was before the squatters made a hash of **_mmph_** "

Difficult to finish his sentence with Oswald's tongue in his mouth, he gladly kissed him back. 

When Oswald pulled away, tears were streaming down his face. "I misjudged you. I said terrible things..."

"Stop." Jeremiah held up a hand. "I'm the one who misjudged. I should have either waited for a better day or at least clued you in. Keeping it a surprise was a bad idea."

"I love you."

Jeremiah froze.

Oswald continued. "Th-this is the single most amazing thing that anyone has ever done for me. I dreaded having lost this property when I was living on the street after Ed tried to kill me...after I lost the mayoral seat...and it never occurred to me that you had even looked at it much less bought it. I must have mentioned it to you and then you were so considerate and kind and I treated you so badly..."

"Why don't you look around some more. I inspected the place last week, and I think you'll be satisfied with the work that's been done." Jeremiah pretended he hadn't heard; hoped maybe Oswald hadn't realized what he'd said. Heat of the moment, and all that. 

Oswald tugged on Jeremiah's coat. "Did you hear what I said? I _love_ you."

_So much for heat of the moment._

The pale man nodded once and said nothing, his eyes eventually flitting away from Oswald's.

Understanding dawned on Oswald. Jeremiah wasn't there yet. No problem, he could be patient. 

"Look, you don't have to say it back. It's fine. We can talk about it later. I mean, I must seem like a hysterical lunatic right now anyway. You said there was food? I'll make something for us. A way to a man's heart is through his stomach, isn't that right?"

Jeremiah smiled tightly and stared over Oswald's shoulder at the clock on the mantle.

"Actually, we spent longer here than I thought we would. I have to go."

"Go? What do you mean? Aren't you going to tour the house with me? Have some lunch?"

"No, you go ahead. I've got some things to do. I'll send your driver for you - that way you can take your time looking things over." He squeezed Oswald's shoulders before turning away.

"Jeremiah, don't."

He stopped halfway across the room and looked back at Oswald.

"Don't leave. Please. I didn't mean to get so angry. I mean, my God, I pulled a knife on you!"

"It's not that. We've packed a lot into today already, and I lost track of time. I'll call you later, okay?"

Oswald limped up to Jeremiah, tears returning to his eyes. "Please don't leave me."

Jeremiah huffed. "I'm not. I just need a little air, Ozzie."

Oswald nodded, still upset. Jeremiah backed up a few steps and then turned and briskly walked out of the room.

Oswald sat heavily on the freshly upholstered red velvet love seat and buried his face in his hands.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Need something that I can confess  
> Til' all my sleeves are stained red  
> From all the truth that I've said  
> Come by it honestly I swear  
> Thought you saw me wink, no  
> I've been on the brink, so
> 
> Tell me what you want to hear  
> Something that are like those years  
> Sick of all the insincere  
> I'm gonna give all my secrets away  
> This time, don't need another perfect lie  
> Don't care if critics ever jump in line  
> I'm gonna give all my secrets away
> 
> \- OneRepublic, "Secrets"
> 
>    
> Oswald regrets his temper tantrum and the unfair accusations he threw at Jeremiah. What he doesn't realize is none of that bothered Jeremiah. In fact, Jeremiah completely understood and was sorry for his own misstep.
> 
> Those three words, though? What Oswald said? They were a lie. A fairy tale. Jeremiah hopes he can get Oswald to understand that. Maybe tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Child abuse and implied incest. If this is not your thing, do not pass Go/do not collect $200. Also, self-harm makes an appearance.
> 
> Flashback segment in italics. Singular italics are the character's thoughts.

Within an hour, Oswald's driver was pulled up outside. During that time, Oswald had dragged himself off the love seat and wandered through the rest of the first floor.

Everything seemed almost as he'd left it that fateful day...

He was shot and pushed off the pier...

Ivy found him and nursed him back to health with her potions and plants...

But he'd never come back to his father's estate after that. He heard that Ed had done some damage, that the GCPD had come by looking for clues to his and Ed's whereabouts. But once he'd healed and gotten back on his feet he'd gotten word that the place was overrun with small time hoods and dope dealers. It was just too painful to consider coming back to see Elijah's life in ashes.

Then that perfect madman Jeremiah Valeska came along and not only bought the property, but renovated it and _gifted_ it back to him. And what did Oswald do in return? Threaten Jeremiah's life and accuse him of betrayal.

How on earth was he going to fix this?

***

Across town, Jeremiah quietly drank a glass of scotch and flipped through one of the only "souvenirs" he'd held onto from his childhood: a tattered copy of Random House's "The Pop-Up Circus" book. He'd kept it in the bottom of a locked cabinet.

***

_"Here you go, my babies!"_

_The book was his mother's when she was a child and she gave it to Jeremiah on his 5th birthday - back when he was still innocent and vaguely happy. She gave Jerome a similar book that day, Hallmark's "The Circus Comes to Town." But Jerome's ended up in the mud and that's when Jeremiah truly became aware of his mother's drinking problem. Lila threw a fit and spanked Jerome until his ass was black and blue. Jeremiah sat in the corner and watched, terrified, holding his own book to his chest and praying that he wouldn't be careless and clumsy like Jay._

_"This hurts me more than it hurts you, Jerome," she often said to his brother when they were small. "You'll understand when you grow up. Children need discipline. This is called tough love."_

_"No, not the cigarette, Mommy!" Jeremiah begged one night after Jerome was already slapped, smacked, beaten with the belt and sent to bed._

_"Stop whining, Jeremiah! You don't want me to hit you, do you? I love you but that doesn't get you off the hook. I have to punish you so you learn. Lift that goddamn shirt NOW!"_

_"Mmm, you're getting so big," she whispered to Jeremiah a few years later, when he was ten and her lovers started beating Jerome for her. She ran her fingers through Jeremiah's thick hair. "So grown up. Do you how much I love you, baby? Let me show you," she breathed, all cheap perfume and stale alcohol._

_Overheard one night when Jeremiah was at the kitchen table drawing mazes: "_ _You whore! When will you stop creeping on him? He's your son, for crissakes!"_

_"Keep out of it, Owen. This is family business. I love my kids equally. Just differently."_

_"Come on, 'Miah. It's no big deal,"  Jerome cooed. His voice, so much like Jeremiah's own, wormed into his brain and made him want to be closer. "No one will find out. You know I love you, right? If you love me, you'll let me."_

***

He was completely unaware of what had happened until Ecco was suddenly kneeling in front of him, cleaning the wounds on his hand. Curiously, he watched her and then glanced at the window where he'd apparently put his fist through the glass. The book was on the floor, blood spatter on the page displaying The Snake Charmer.

"Care to talk about it?"

He shook his head, letting her guide him over to the couch. She poured him another drink and expertly tended to his bloody knuckles as if she'd done it for him before.

In actual fact, she had.

***

Oswald was contemplative on the ride back to the Falcone mansion. He thought about the bedroom at the Van Dahl estate. The bedding and accessories were now Pine Cone Hill - not the Dian Austin Couture that were there before - and that Jeremiah had the damaged linens and curtains replaced by something so tastefully similar made his heart clench. Oswald's own bespoke clothing remained in the wooden wardrobe. Not all of his suits - some of them must have been stolen or damaged - but enough of them recovered and dry cleaned so that he could wear older favorites again.

He knew he should wait, should give him some space, but he couldn't help himself. He dialed Jeremiah's cell.

There was no answer. Ecco didn't even pick up. It went right to voice mail.

***

Jeremiah sat impassively while Ecco carefully picked glass fragments from his suit jacket and dabbed at the cut on his neck from an errant shard. She swept up the rest of the glass and wiped the blood from the book with a damp paper towel. He might be angry now, but she knew he'd want to see this again when he was ready.

"I'll put this away. You aren't alone in this world, you know. It's not Haly's Circus anymore, Jeremiah. This is Gotham - and it's _your_ city now."

"Yes," he agreed, staring at the broken window. "Will you put some crash wrap on that?" he asked, tilting his chin toward the grapefruit-sized hole. "Don't need another bat in this place."

"I will. Would you like something to eat?"

"No, I couldn't stomach anything right now. Maybe later. Thank you, Ecco."

"Where's your phone?" 

He glanced around but didn't see it. "Probably left it on the file cabinet. Would you bring it up after you put that... _thing_...away?"

She nodded and quietly left him to ruminate on his own.

He wondered if he was being overly dramatic. But no. He was logical. Scientific.

People think they "love," but "love" is merely a behavior acted out through pressure from society. A Hallmark Greeting Card notion. They think they have to "love" or they'll forever be alone. But there's no such thing as love beyond some chemicals in the brain. The only "love" he'd ever known was incorrect, abhorrent, guilt-inducing, untoward. "Love" was just words - ugly lies. Dirty, unhealthy sexual overtures with fairy tale feelings sprinkled on top to hide its incestuous, repellent nature.

That's not what he and Oswald had. What they had was an intelligent, consensual arrangement. They provided something for each other. An exchange between equals. Did he care for the man? Yes, of course. He was concerned for his welfare, he would protect him from harm, he would give him whatever he needed...but there was no need to pretend that any pseudo-emotions could bind them closer than they already were.

Damn it, if Oswald just hadn't said that ridiculous thing to him! Surely Ozzie was smarter than to lean on that emotional crutch, after what he went through with Nygma?

Jeremiah was so tired all of a sudden. He felt like he could literally sleep for a week. 

_Fight or flight. Don't choose flight. You're better than that._

He took out his lighter and flicked it open, striking the ignition source with the pad of his thumb and watching the blue-yellow flame spark to life.

_Focus._

He drew his left palm to the flame. It took some time for the pain to actually register - he had a significant callus buildup on the heel of his hand from repeated burns over the years. When he felt the pain flare, he closed the lighter and then his eyes, tilting his head back against the couch cushion. He knew Ecco would be back any minute with his phone and she'd take care of the burn with some antibiotic cream and bandage.

"Oh, for God's sake," Ecco mumbled, seeing his upturned hand resting on his thigh. "Can't I leave you alone for even a minute when you're in this mood?" 

He chuckled weakly when she laid the phone on the couch and scurried off to get the first aid supplies again.

*** 

Oswald had just sat down in the den, glass of red wine in hand, when his phone buzzed. He almost dropped the wine in his haste to answer.

"Ozzie?"

"Jeremiah," he said reverently. "I thought you perhaps weren't taking calls."

"No, I misplaced the phone earlier and Ecco just brought it to me. Is everything alright?"

_Is everything alright?!?_

Oswald stared incredulously at the phone and took a big gulp of wine. "Yes, fine. I'm back home. And I _love_ what you did to the house."

Jeremiah cringed. 

_Must he use that word again?!?_

"Good. Good, I'm glad. It was my pleasure." Before Oswald could extend an invitation (or say that _godforsaken_ word again), he added, "I'm actually going to work on some blueprints shortly, so I might be indisposed for the evening. But perhaps we can talk tomorrow afternoon - if there are no mobsters crowding the lobby of either of our headquarters," he joked. "I'd like to hear more. What you liked best, and what can be improved."

"Yes. Yes, sounds good. I need to spend a little time with Martin tonight anyway - I've barely seen the boy this week what with your big coming out party at City Hall. So, we'll talk tomorrow?"

"Mmm hmm, we will. Maybe you can come for dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those are both real books, and I had a copy of the Random House "The Pop-Up Circus" book when I was a kid. A little creepy...you can page through it at this link:  
> https://picclick.com/THE-POP-UP-CIRCUS-BOOK-Vintage-Childrens-Random-283211263941.html


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold on, maybe  
> In our next life I will be less crazy  
> And make up for the mistakes made this time  
> I know you're trying to save me  
> I know your busy saving yourself  
> Don't let the light you leave on  
> Burn you out inside
> 
> \- Will Dailey, "Tomorrow Still Comes"
> 
> It's a new day in Gotham. Oswald and Jeremiah, separately, feel much better than they did yesterday. But even though they had plans to talk to each other over dinner, the city never sleeps. 
> 
> The King and his Consort must attend to the business of the kingdom above all else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short transition chapter before additional characters join the story. The boys are not done with their relationship discussion, though, believe me.

Jeremiah hummed as he closed up the ledger and turned off the computer. He'd had enough for one day. Seriously, he'd been running Gotham for just under a week and he felt like he'd been at it for a month already. Selling weapons, collecting protection money, listening to people complain.

Oswald arrived promptly at 5pm and Ecco let him into Jeremiah's living space.

"Flowers? Maybe I like chocolates better," Jeremiah smirked.

"Oh hush. Just take them. I wanted to formally apologize for my tantrum yesterday. I should know better than to distrust you." Oswald handed over a tasteful bouquet of a dozen blood red roses wrapped with a purple satin bow.

"Thank you," Jeremiah murmured, placing a kiss on Oswald's cheek and walking off to the kitchenette to find something suitable for a flower arrangement.

"Drink?"

"Not quite yet. I wanted to do this first." Penguin walked up to Jeremiah after he'd set the vase down and cupped his pale cheeks in his hands. He leaned up and Jeremiah instantly bent his head forward to meet him halfway. They kissed softly, gently, before Oswald took a breath and whispered, "Thank you."

Jeremiah moved an errant strand of Oswald's hair to the side and bumped their noses together. "Anything for you."

Oswald's face changed a little, as if he was remembering something painful, but he shrugged it off. "I love you so much, Jeremiah Valeska."

"About that," Jeremiah said, shoulders sagging a little. "Maybe you should have a seat."

"I rushed it, didn't I? I should have waited a bit." Oswald followed Jeremiah to the couch. "What happened here?" he asked, catching sight of the plastic wrapped window. "Rock? Bat? Bullet?"

"Nothing quite so dramatic. Just a little mishap. Wasn't paying attention." 

Oswald now noticed Jeremiah was wearing his gloves inside his own home. He sat beside the pale man and took his right hand into his lap to peel off the glove. 

"What happened? I don't remember seeing bandages yesterday."

Jeremiah shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Are you going to burn down another city block?" Oswald asked, not without a little sarcasm.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time we parted under somewhat strained circumstances, you blew up enough of a neighborhood to force the families to declare a truce. What will you do this time?"

The pale man chuckled weakly. "My window is the only damage this go-round. Funny that you connected the events. I do hope I'm not getting predictable."

"Never. But I do think I've gotten to know you fairly well. I am sorry about threatening you yesterday. I was out of line and..."

"It wasn't that. At all. Actually, that was rather hot."

Oswald stared at him in disbelief. "Hot?"

"Mmm hmm, you are quite formidable when you've lost your temper. I think I like it."

Oswald blushed a little as Jeremiah squeezed his left hand with the bandaged right one. "Does that mean I get to tie _you_ up sometime?"

"Let's not get carried away, little bird. But I do like fire, as you know. And you've got plenty of it."

"You're changing the subject."

Caught, Jeremiah took his hand back and leaned into the couch cushions.

"What then, because I told you I love you?"

"Stop saying it," Jeremiah said in a low, monotone voice. 

"But, I..." Jeremiah placed his finger over Oswald's lips. 

"Please? I have my reasons. I just...let's not go there. Do you trust me?" At Oswald's nod, Jeremiah removed his finger. "You are wonderful and perfect and there's no one else I want by my side, personally or professionally. But love is not something I can discuss with any alacrity."

Puzzled, Oswald sat back and looked him over. "You've never been in love?"

"I...No."

"Felt love for family, even briefly?"

"Ozzie, it's not been scientifically proven to even exist. It's a social construct and I'll not be forced into it by a society that knows nothing about me or my nature. I'm not belittling you or your... _feelings_...but I'd prefer it if you didn't use that terminology around me."

"But, love isn't a _construct_. It's an emotion. Some things just can't be proven - doesn't mean they don't exist. What about souls? A higher power?"

"Oh dear. This is going to turn into a very unproductive philosophical debate, isn't it?" 

Oswald grinned just as a very loud alarm rang through from the elevators. "What the..."

"Now?" Jeremiah picked up his cell phone and called Ecco. "What? Are you kidding me?" He looked at Oswald with wide eyes and put the phone on speaker. "Would you repeat that for Oswald's benefit?"

"Barbara Kean's Sirens have attempted to take territory that crosses into Victor Fries's and he's putting up a fight and calling for help."

"Has Victor paid me already?"

"Yes, Mr. Valeska."

Jeremiah huffed in frustration. "Fine! Turn that blasted noise off and get the sharpshooters together. We'll need..." he looked to Oswald for help.

"A dozen. And call Jonathan Crane and Mad Hatter to assist," Penguin advised Ecco.

"Yes, Mr. Cobblepot. Will do. I have at least a dozen of ours ready to go. Please, both of you meet us downstairs after you stop at the armory." 

Jeremiah ended the call. "This is ridiculous. This is day five. Day. FIVE! Did you ever have to handle this kind of discord and so early in your reign?"

"Not quite. Oh, I had enough of my own run-ins and dangerous gun battles, mind you, but the city wasn't overrun with lunatics and madmen like it is now."

"Hey. Who are you calling a lunatic?"

"Aw, come on. You're _my_ lunatic. I guess we'll finish our philosophical debate later?"

"Much later," Jeremiah groaned. "Yay, a gun battle."

"Can you shoot with your hand like that?"

"Pfft. High pain tolerance, remember? I'm fine. Let's go do some damage."

"Don't forget the rocket launcher," Oswald reminded him. "You have quite the aim."


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it rise  
> Way out of control  
> You can't disguise  
> What's inevitable
> 
> We're a lawless brigade  
> Up all night, up all night  
> We're a lawless brigade  
> Up all night, no restraint
> 
> \- Unkle, "Lawless"
> 
> The situation with the Sirens is brought under control, but some old friends show up. Jeremiah and Oswald make sure they understand the score. But has Jeremiah picked up on a little subtext? The plot thickens.

By the time Jeremiah and Oswald arrived for the defending of Fries's territory, Victor and his associates had managed to hold off the Sirens without resorting to turning them all into popsicles. But there was a bit of chaos - hand-to-hand combat among men and women alike and some random gunfire between criminals and bystanders. The team Ecco had assembled spread out and began bringing the different factions to heel, moving the injured away from the ruckus. Ecco and five of Penguin's men stood guard over Jeremiah and Oswald. It didn't take long for the scene to calm down once Jeremiah was glimpsed. At spying the pale man in his fancy black and red ensemble, black fedora tipped at a jaunty angle, some Sirens ran off while others stood their ground defying his authority. Barbara was one of the latter, of course, and approached Oswald with gun in hand.

"Miss Kean," Jeremiah said dangerously, "I would advise you to stand down. I'd hate to have to kill you already. It's so uncivilized."

"Really, freak?" she smirked, lowering the gun nonetheless. "Who appointed you God?"

"It's _Mr. Valeska_ to you, Babs," Oswald cooed, "and basically everyone left in Gotham with any sense appointed him head of the mob families. So, unless you want a cap in your pretty little head, I'd listen to him. You probably already know he doesn't fuck around when it comes to killing."

"See, but I didn't agree to this _appointment_. No one rules over me."

"No matter - not our fault you didn't show up to the meeting. Why didn't you let your voice be heard at that time, when there was still opportunity for debate?" Oswald asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Come on, Ozzie," she sniped, "why would the Sirens attend any meeting called by the _men_ of Gotham? You can all rot in hell!"

"Really?" Jeremiah smirked. "What is it with all the man-hatred? You can't survive without men forever, Blondie."

"Don't you dare call me Blon..."

Suddenly, a familiar voice was heard through a bullhorn.

"GCPD! Break it up, all of you, or you're coming with us!"

"Oh, goodie," Jeremiah sighed, flipping on the safety and resting his shotgun on his shoulder.

"Jim, my hero!" Barbara cackled, and took off in the opposite direction ducking gunfire as she fled.

"Don't forget the 8.5% you owe Jeremiah for not shooting your ass!" Oswald shouted after her.

Harvey Bullock strode up to the little gathering first. "Wherever there's trouble, there's Penguin. And look! If it isn't  _Bomb Boy._  Ooh, we've been looking all over for you Valeska - this is a real treat."

"Detective Bullock," Jeremiah greeted in his dull monotone. "Clearly you weren't looking hard enough."

"Oswald!" Jim Gordon called over. "Step away from Valeska and you won't get hurt."

"James Gordon, old friend. Why would I get hurt? There are," he pointedly nodded his head at each of them. "Let's see, six of you and...about 18 with us - and another 25 out there that have been brought under control or are on our side anyway. Which, by the way, is why we're here. Keeping the peace, since the GCPD clearly hasn't got the manpower or the ability to do so." Penguin grinned widely. "Hello Bruce Wayne! Is this what you get up to nowadays? Running with the lawmen? Nice leather jacket."

Bruce didn't respond, just stared with undisguised hatred at Jeremiah. Jeremiah, for his part, held eye contact with the boy but remained expressionless.

"Better that Bruce be with the lawmen than the _lawless_. Never mind. Jeremiah Valeska, you are under arrest for five counts of domestic terrorism and one count of assault with a deadly weapon. Oh, make that  _six_ counts of terrorism - I'm guessing you were behind last week's bombing of the Continental Arms. It sure has your MO all over it. You have the right to remain silent," Jim approached with his handcuffs in one hand and Sig Sauer in the other.

"I think not, Jim," Jeremiah said quietly, glancing at Ecco and causing Jim to stop in his tracks. "As Oswald said, there are many more of us than you. And if I let my bodyguard do what she's trained to, your armed cohorts will be dead in mere seconds. Please don't force my hand to shed any more blood than necessary."

"Force your hand? I'm not the one who blew up the bridges and turned this city into a ruined island!"

"So you arrest me. What then? Stick me in your tiny little holding cell? No access to showers and fresh clothes? You'll have to feed me - you have too much of a conscience to let me sit there and rot. And there are no courts to try me. It would be more trouble for you than it's worth."

"James, just to tag on to my companion's wise commentary, who you really need to arrest here is your old flame Barbara Kean. She instigated this little riot by attacking our good friend Victor Fries and his associates. I suggest you take some statements from the injured and let us be on our way. Our work here is done."

"Since when are you and Valeska friends?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Since Penguin's a little skank and always heads over to the winning side, Jim," Harvey mocked, clearly disgusted with the situation but aware that the little band of merry do-gooders were outnumbered.

"Since when does it matter to you?  But if you must know, Jeremiah is my closest friend and confidant," Oswald said with pride, "and I would be with him regardless of the side he is on. But we are, indeed, on the side of keeping Gotham's crime syndicates orderly and prosperous while reinventing the city in a new image. If we need police presence - and that's a _big_ if, we'll let you know. Now go harass the harassers - the Sirens - and leave us be."

"Oswald, I'm not...I don't think this is a good idea - you aligning with Jeremiah." Jim looked troubled by more than just the fact that Valeska was out and about. There was something oddly intimate about the way Oswald referred to Jeremiah; how close he stood to him, the way he looked at him. Jim stepped closer and dropped his voice. "Are you alright? Not being held against your will?"

"I'm sorry if I've offended your sensibilities, James," Oswald giggled. "It's nice to know you still care somewhere in that black heart of yours. My partnership with Jeremiah is not just a _good_ idea; it's the _best_ idea I've ever had, quite frankly. We take care of and watch out for each other. It's more than I can say for any of my previous alliances, present company included." 

Jim grimaced at the reference to his checkered history with Oswald; not returning favors, treating him badly over the years.

Oswald looked over at Ecco and nodded. Ecco took Jeremiah by the elbow and began backing up, her automatic weapon trained on Jim while Oswald's bodyguard did the same with Penguin, aiming at Harvey. The other four men pointed their weapons at Alvarez and Harper. Bruce and Lucius Fox remained behind the police team, unarmed but wearing bullet proof vests and matching disdainful expressions.

Gordon and the other cops had already lowered their weapons in defeat.

"Brucie, always a pleasure to see you," Jeremiah called over, voice dripping with sarcasm as he trotted backwards while Ecco covered him and directed him into the van they'd arrived in.

"Until next time, James! Bye, Bruce Wayne!" Oswald waved and followed Jeremiah into the van.

"You're not just going to let them go, are you Captain?" Bruce spat, elbowing closer despite Fox holding his shoulder.

"I'm afraid we don't have much choice, Bruce. Jeremiah's right; I can't detain him for long. We have no supplies nor anyone to guard him if we put him anywhere other than the holding cells. And we're badly outnumbered. I have a feeling whoever called this in did it as a joke so we'd see just how impotent we are as a police force."

"At least let me take a swing at him!" Bruce snarled, finally pushing past Gordon and toward the black van with fists clenched.

"Stop, son. It's not the time," he quietly urged as the van pulled away from the curb and into the night. "I know you're hurting and want justice for Selena. But this isn't the way."

"The hell it's not," Bruce mumbled. "It's _exactly_ the way." 

"I didn't take you for a vigilante, Wayne," Bullock remarked, eyebrows raised.

"Some day I'm going to wipe that smirk off Jeremiah's face. Beat that bastard into a pulp and leave him bleeding alone on some rooftop." Bruce turned and stalked away from the crime scene in a rage.

Meanwhile, in the back of a black van racing across Gotham, Jeremiah turned to Oswald with a knowing expression. 

"So. It seems you have quite the history with our Captain Gordon. Should I be worried, little bird?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the knife I surrendered  
> The innocence yours to consume  
> You cut it away  
> And you filled me up with hate  
> Into the silence you sent me  
> Into the fire consumed  
> You thought I'd forget  
> But it's always in my head
> 
> You're the pulse in my veins  
> You're the war that I wage  
> Can you change me?  
> You're the love that I hate  
> You're the drug that I take  
> Will you cage me?  
> You're the pulse in my veins  
> You're the war that I wage  
> Can you change me  
> From the monster you made me?  
>   
> \- Starset, "Monster"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: self harm, implied incest, animal cruelty
> 
> I have shamelessly borrowed a character created by the wonderful [@nostalgic90s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic90s/pseuds/nostalgic90s) in her brilliant Valeska Twins story "[Young Blood.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587088)" The character (Penelope) is only briefly in my story in a flashback, but is pivotal to the plot. Thank you, 90s. (Read 90s's stuff - one of my favorite fanfic writers with a ton of Jerome and Jeremiah fics and they are all inspiring!)
> 
> See the end notes for the rest of the lyrics to the amazing song "Monster" by Starset - you can hear it on youtube [here](https://youtu.be/Bq6IuZIJhuI).

_"Should I be worried, little bird?"_

Oswald leaned heavily against the door of the van, putting his weapon on the floor. "Worried? About Gordon? You needn't worry about anyone, but especially not that oaf. The only worry with him is you getting arrested."

Jeremiah hummed thoughtfully and took Oswald's gloved hand into his own. The rest of the ride back to the Stravinsky was silent until Ecco parked.

"Still planning to stay?" Jeremiah asked quietly.

"Of course," Oswald smiled. "Wild horses, and all that." 

Ecco took the long guns to the armory and once on the floor of his living quarters, Jeremiah and Oswald headed straight for the bedroom.

"Long evening, is it alright if we just..." the pale man trailed off, shrugging and looking expectantly at his partner.

"Without a doubt. I'm frankly too tired to even have a night cap, but don't let that stop you." Jeremiah nodded and went out to the den to retrieve a glass of scotch for himself. When he returned, Oswald had already disrobed and was under the covers.

"Hiding all of that beautiful skin from me, pet?

"Not from you, exactly. It's that I'm never comfortable standing about without my clothes outside of a scene. I have to be in that headspace, or at least getting there, to let go of my insecurities." As he spoke, he watched as Jeremiah undressed with the kind of indifferent confidence he'd always wished for. 

"I'll admit, I was never comfortable getting completely nude myself -- until the gas, I think. Now I couldn't care less. Even the first few times I had sex while at school, I didn't completely undress. I felt too vulnerable. I think I wanted to be ready to run," Jeremiah chuckled. He pulled the covers back and sat with his back against the headboard, gesturing for Oswald to sit between his spread legs. 

The scratches on his thighs were no longer bandaged; simply fading red marks. 

Oswald settled in place and leaned his head back against Jeremiah's right shoulder. The irony of it being the shoulder he'd shot two months ago wasn't lost on him.

"Want to tell me a little more about this?" Oswald smoothed the bandage on the hand resting on Oswald's stomach.

"Hmm. Let's trade." Jeremiah's lips grazed Oswald's left ear. "I'll tell you  _a little more_ about my hand if you tell me  _a lot more_ about your storied past with our Captain Gordon."

"Oh, bah. There's nothing to tell. He saved my life, I saved his, blah blah blah.  I had a crush on him for far too long and he treated me like dirt under his feet."

"Crush? Ooh, do tell." 

Oswald gasped when Jeremiah simultaneously caressed his sides and sucked a bruise into his neck.

"Come now, I want details. All the dirty dreams."

"No." Oswald turned and looked at Jeremiah's playful expression. "Do you know why I'm not going to do that?" Jeremiah raised a brow in curiosity. "Because I haven't had thoughts like that about Jim Gordon in years. The only one I think about like that is you. The only one I  _want_ to think about like that is you. I plan to keep it that way, if you don't mind."

"Ozzie," Jeremiah whispered, impressed. "I don't mind at all."

***

After a twenty minute interlude of light making out followed by Jeremiah bringing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons to bed, Oswald broached the subject again.

"I mean, it seems obvious to me that you put your fist through the window. And you have another bandage on your left palm. You're not a clumsy man, so I have to think it was somehow all self-inflicted. Was it because of my initial reaction to your buying the house?" 

"Nope," Jeremiah said, licking the back of his spoon. "Guess again."

Oswald sighed. "I'd hate to think it was because I said I lov..." His words were halted by Jeremiah's spoon against his lips.

"Ah, hold that thought."

"Really?" Oswald dug a chunk of ice cream out and made a face at his own spoon when he saw it had hardly any chocolate. "So, because you truly don't believe it exists, or...?"

"Because every time it was spoken aloud to me, it meant nothing. Less than nothing. Only a tool for manipulation." 

"And you think I'm trying to manipulate you?" Oswald asked in surprise.

"I don't want to argue with you, I really don't," Jeremiah said tiredly, putting his spoon and napkin down on the nightstand. "I have my reasons. The words...hurt me. I know _you_ don't mean them to; they are meant to comfort or make me happy. But they conjure up images from a life I no longer have to acknowledge. From individuals that no longer matter."

Penguin noticed Jeremiah suddenly seemed cool. Not in attitude - in temperature. His skin was chilled. Maybe it was the ice cream. 

***

_It was silly, the two of them carving identical "J"s into the palm of each other's left hand. Well, it was more like the heel of their hands - the palm wasn't fleshy enough. Jerome said it was to create a blood bond as he pressed their cuts against each other. They were already literal blood brothers, but Jeremiah went along with it. It was one of the first times Jeremiah felt an intense sense of possession - not just over his brother, just in general._

_They were 9._

_Lila never noticed the small, flesh colored bandage each boy wore and never looked close enough at them anyway._

_Years later, right after the "incident" (as it would come to be referred to in Jeremiah's head), Lila continued to be oblivious to the new bandage that would appear every so often in that same spot on Jeremiah's hand._

_Jerome didn't notice either. Maybe if he had, they could have talked about it. Talked through it. Changed the path their lives took._

_***_

_Jeremiah and Jerome never truly became lovers. No, Jeremiah was too practical to go through with it. But, he did think about it. He had never been attracted to anyone but his brother, and he worried about what that said about his mental health. He already knew he wasn't as emotionally clued in as most people, and he also had a furious temper that caused perceived slights to be blown way out of proportion. But "normal people" didn't have romantic or sexual feelings for siblings. He felt some shame but he also felt a sense of calm when Jerome was with him. Jerome loved him. He told him so all the time, and although Jeremiah never said it back (that was simply too mushy though he sometimes said 'me too') he felt his brother knew. Their bond was unshakable._

_Jeremiah thought that maybe, when they were older, he'd let Jerome be the one to take his virginity. Jerome was the horny one, the aggressive one, the emotional one, the loving one. Jeremiah would surrender to him some day. Like he surrendered to the marking of his hand. To the making out. To the fooling around. To letting Jerome basically do whatever he wanted to him. Well, except THAT. But someday. After all, Jerome said they were meant to be together forever._

_In the spring before their 13th birthdays, Jerome been increasingly disappearing at lunch time and taking longer breaks. One day, he snuck away for longer than usual.  Jeremiah had a job to fulfill so he didn't keep track of his brother's time, but he missed having lunch with him. Today, though, when he was not at the snake cage on time, Jeremiah had a weird feeling in his stomach. Call it a twin-sense._

_He found them behind one of the food prep trailers. They never heard or saw him.  Jeremiah had more than once proven how stealthy he could be. He stayed long enough to hear part of their conversation. Once they'd stopped kissing long enough to speak, that is._

_"Someday I'll get us out of here. You'll see," Jerome said, looking off in the distance. "I can't spend my life in the circus."_

_"So you're taking me with you?" Penelope asked, gently touching the bruise on Jerome's cheekbone. He had new bruises nearly every day._

_"Of course, silly. Who else would I take? Probably marry ya too. I mean, if ya want." He got the stupidist grin on his face._

_Jeremiah burned. The kissing, that was bad...but his brother had a raging libido. He could have gotten over that._

_"Oh my God, was that a proposal?" she squealed, half kidding._

_Jerome laughed and moved to the left to look in the dumpster. "It's not romantic, but here." He popped the pull tab off a soda can. "I know it won't fit. Well, maybe on your pinkie. But carry it in your pocket or something. With this." He pulled a purple marble out of his pocket._

_"You goofball. I think I love you." She kissed him on the cheek and tucked the treasures into her change purse._

_"Yeah, yeah. I bet that's what you say to all the circus boys." He lowered his voice. "Me too. I mean, we were meant to wind up to together, yeah?"_

_"No," Jeremiah mouthed. He wouldn't have been able to say it out loud even if he hadn't been hiding. His mouth had gone bone dry. He backed away and took off as fast as he could. When he was far enough away he heaved his lunch up in the nearest trash bin. He dragged himself to the mess hall to let Zach know that he was ill and to make his excuses for him - he'd need to take the rest of the day off. Zach, glad it wasn't the food that disagreed with him, promised to take care of it and sent Jeremiah back to the trailer to rest and not spread his germs._

_Jeremiah washed the vile taste out of his mouth. But his stomach revolted and remained as sour as his mood. His shock briefly evolved into grief, but then into a blinding, enduring rage.  He would_ **_never_ ** _forgive Jerome for making a fool out of him. He should have known better. He was smarter than all of these idiots put together; how could he have been such a sucker? Those words about love never meant a thing. Jerome and Lila both tossed them around like saying a simple "good morning."_

_Oh sure, you love me alright._

_He took his mother's lighter and, right where that "J" was imprinted in his flesh, burned the heel of his hand until the skin blistered and bled._

_He never shed a tear._

_And so began the cleansing ritual that Jeremiah Valeska would come to depend on later in his life - a pain that sharpened his mind and symbolically removed his brother from existence. When burning his hand wasn't enough, well...there would be plenty of other things to burn._

_***_

_Things were never the same at Haly's Circus after Penelope's dog Oscar was found dead from anticoagulant toxicosis._

_Jerome was believed to be guilty; rat poison was discovered in his locker, and all over the bottom of a pair of his workboots._

_It didn't occur to Jerome that Jeremiah framed him. No, not then. The brothers loved each other, after all. Unshakable bond._

_Needless to say, Penelope and Jerome would no longer even be friends, much less a starry eyed couple._ _How could she ever look at him the same way?_

_Everyone was wary of the crazy boy that killed his girlfriend's dog for no reason._

_The beating Jerome got from Zach was nearly bad enough to land him in the hospital. Jeremiah cried fake tears and begged his uncle to stop. When his mother tried to comfort her favorite son, instead of cringing Jeremiah went willingly into her arms. Lila petted his hair and cooed to him as he closed his eyes and saw flames beneath his lids._

_How he longed to burn the whole carnival to the ground along with every one in it._

_He'd settle for destroying his brother's life._

_***_

"Hey," Oswald whispered. "You alright? You zoned out on me there for a few minutes."

"What?" Jeremiah blinked a few times. Oswald was peering at him with genuine concern on his face.

"We were talking, then suddenly you felt a little chilly and you just stared into space. You scared me."

"Sorry. Low blood pressure," the pale man lied. "It sometimes happens. I get lightheaded and lose my place." He pressed his bandaged palm against his hipbone until he felt the pain bring back some focus. "I'll be fine, Ozzie. Promise. Thank you for worrying."

Oswald attached himself to Jeremiah like a limpet and fussed over him until they went to sleep.

Jeremiah didn't complain one bit. It helped chase away the chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the world you've created  
> The product of what I've become  
> My soul and my youth  
> Seems it's all for you to use  
> If I could take back the moment  
> I let you get under my skin  
> Relent or resist  
> Seems the monster always wins
> 
> My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul  
> I lift you up and then I let you go  
> I've made an art of digging shallow holes  
> I'll drop the tiniest seed and watch it grow  
> My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul  
> Who knew the emptiness could be so cold?  
> I've lost the parts of me that make me whole  
> I am the darkness  
> I'm a monster
> 
> You're the pulse in my veins  
> You're the war that I wage  
> Can you change me?  
> You're the love that I hate  
> You're the drug that I take  
> Will you cage me?  
> You're the pulse in my veins  
> You're the war that I wage  
> Can you change me  
> From the monster you made me?  
> Songwriters: Dustin Paul Bates / Rob Graves / Johnny Lee Andrews


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are not perfect  
> We'll learn from our mistakes  
> And as long as it takes  
> I will prove my love to you
> 
> I am not scared of the elements  
> I am under-prepared, but I am willing  
> And even better  
> I get to be the other half of you
> 
> Tell the world that we finally got it all right  
> I choose you
> 
> \- Sara Bareilles, "I Choose You"
> 
> Jeremiah and Oswald have a little morning interlude. Oswald and Martin conspire separately, together. Everyone is happy with how the day turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold/italics represent Martin's scribbles.

Jeremiah sleepily blinked his pale eyes open, only to find two sea-green eyes looking back at him. 

"Hey," he whispered. "Why didn't you wake me?" Jeremiah snuggled a little closer under the blankets. He was still getting used to waking up with someone in his bed, but everything with Oswald just felt so natural.

"I was just watching you. Do you know your eyelashes flutter just before you wake up? And they're so ridiculously long that I have to stare at them."

"Shush, you sweet-talker. Kiss me."

Oswald made a face. "Not until you brush your teeth."

"I'll tickle you, Cobblepot," Jeremiah teased.

"I have a better idea," Oswald mused, scooting down under the covers.

"Where are you going, you devil? I'm not even awak...oh, maybe I _am_..." he trailed off.

A muffled giggle was heard before that dangerous Cobblepot mouth was put to better use. But that was just the start of the wake-up festivities. Once it was clearly warm enough to toss off the covers (or more like, Jeremiah didn't want Ozzie to suffocate while trying to blow him under a thick down comforter) Oswald decided to give Jeremiah a bit of a show. No lingerie this time, but Oswald was in the mood to be a little...saucy and bossy.

Oswald sat back, giving his companion a good view of, well, everything, as he stretched himself open with lubed fingers.

"Jesus Christ. Give a guy a little warning, would you?" 

He winked at Jeremiah in response and then crawled closer. "Hands by your head."

"Wait, who's in charge here?"

"Me, right?"

Jeremiah sighed dramatically but smiled and put his hands up in the air before dropping them onto the pillow.

"No touching. Are we in agreement?"

"I don't like it."

"You will." Oswald lowered his voice to a purr. "Just let me take care of you for a change."

Oswald lubed up Jeremiah's very interested cock and straddled the man's hips.

He didn't do anything else. Just _hovered_ there.

"Really?" Jeremiah smirked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Just wait. Do you know you're a very impatient sort?"

"This is a very drawn out, extravagant tease darling. It's sweet but, I think... _holy shit!_ "

Oswald had turned around and impaled himself, letting out a loud grunt at about the same time Jeremiah almost launched off the mattress. 

"No touching," Oswald warned as Jeremiah's hands automatically grabbed his waist to lift him up.

"Well, Jesus fuck, then move!" He took his hands away and growled in frustration.

Oswald laughed breathlessly and held onto Jeremiah's legs as he levered himself up and down, riding Jeremiah's cock a little too slowly to be helpful.

"I think," the pale man said through gritted teeth, "that this is a ploy."

Oswald continued moving at a snail's pace.

"Oh, no you don't, you little miscreant!" Jeremiah tugged Oswald off on the next upstroke and flipped him over onto his back. Oswald burst out laughing, arms flailing uselessly to the sides.

"Is this what you wanted?" Jeremiah lifted Oswald's legs up onto his shoulders, watching the smaller man's expression as he moved closer and teased Oswald's hole with the tip of his cock.

"Well, we've never done it this way, so..."

"Why didn't you just ask?" He shook his head, fully awake now. "My little sub wants missionary style sex and thinks he has to trick me into it?"

"It was more fun to goad you into _taking_ what you want," Oswald explained, ending his sentence on an obscene moan as Jeremiah slid home.

"If you weren't so goddamn cute, I'd beat your little ass black and blue," he complained, moving steadily in and out of his lover's tight grip. Oswald just smiled, holding on to Jeremiah's shoulders and meeting him thrust for thrust. "God, you're insufferable. That's exactly what you want!" 

"Make me come without touching me," Oswald dared him.

"You're really making me work this morning, aren't you?" Jeremiah smirked, picking up the pace. "You are so getting punished later, my naughty boy."

"Mmmm, I hope so," Oswald murmured in between gasps. "But first, fuck me into the mattress, főnök."

***

As they lay sprawled out on their backs panting after the strenuous morning exercise, Oswald had an idea.

"What are you doing later, Jeremiah?"

"Whipping you."

"No, not then. Before that."

The pale man thought for a moment. "No plans, other than to check on our mutual business interests. Why?"

"I'm going to take Martin over to the Van Dahl estate and give him a tour. Why don't you join us?"

"Oh, no no. I don't want to intrude. That's time for you to spend with the boy. And listen," he added soberly, "don't tell him I bought the house, alright?"

"No, I won't. I want him to understand he has to work for the things he wants. I can't guarantee he'll find a sweet sugar daddy like I did."

"Whipping you later, Ozzie," Jeremiah reminded him. 

Oswald chuckled. "Why don't you come over at dinner time? I'll have had a whole day with him by then, and he'll be happy to see you. I can be a bit much."

"You think?" Jeremiah teased.

"Oh, hush. Come by at 5. Bring a pizza or something equally unhealthy. He'll be thrilled."

"Fine. Pizza at 5. I'm shooting the pizza guy if the cardboard leaks. I will not get grease on my suit. "

***

Martin had full run of the house, and he was more excited than Oswald could remember seeing him. When the doorbell chimed at 5 PM, the boy zoomed down the staircase and almost ran Oswald over in his rush to get to the door.

"Hello, Martin," Jeremiah greeted as the boy snagged the pizza out of his hands and ran to the kitchen. "Okay, nice to see you too," he deadpanned as he hung his coat up. He knew the house pretty well after overseeing the renovations, so he didn't need any help finding the Cobblepot men or the pizza. 

"Jeremiah," Oswald smiled as the pale man appeared in the doorway. "Thank you for joining us and bringing dinner. Martin, can you please wait until we all sit down before eating?" 

The boy paused mid-chew, holding his slice over the box.

"You'd think I hadn't fed him at all this week," Oswald complained goodnaturedly.

After a couple of slices of pizza and some mineral water (Oswald was loathe to give the boy soda), Martin was tasked with clean-up duty.

"Did he choose his room?" 

"Yes, he's very excited to decorate it. I think we're going to end up moving in here much more quickly than I'd anticipated."

Jeremiah glanced down at the tugging of his shirt sleeve. 

"Yes?"

Martin took his hand and pulled him toward the stair case. He glanced over his shoulder at Oswald, eyebrow raised.

"He must want to show you his new living quarters. Be nice, Martin. Ask Mr. J if he wants to have a look."

The boy dropped Jeremiah's hand and quickly scrawled "sorry" on his notepad.

"It's fine. Okay, show me your room, Martin." Martin scurried up the stairs and Jeremiah followed with a charmed look on his face. He rounded the corner at the top of the staircase and saw that the boy had picked one of the rooms across the hall from Oswald's master bedroom but not directly opposite. It was quite spacious and had a nice view of the front of the estate. It had been Sasha Van Dahl's room previously.

"Do you have a color picked out for the walls, or will you leave them white?"

The boy wrote a response, his tongue between his teeth as he contemplated his answer.

_**I like yellow. I think the walls should be that color so it will always look sunny. Gotham is always so grey.** _

"Quite right. Yellow is a good choice. Maybe you can put some book shelves up too."

**_That would be cool. Now let's go pick out your room._ **

"My room?" Maybe Oswald forgot that he wasn't supposed to mention who bought the property back. Jeremiah was at a loss how to explain to the boy that this wasn't his home, it was Oswald's. "I don't think that I'm meant to have a room, am I?"

"Why not?" Oswald asked from the doorway.

"Oswald," Jeremiah started, but Martin tugged his sleeve again.

_**You should have a room so that when you come over you have a place for your things.** _

"I'm sure that one of the guest rooms would be fine for that, but it's very thoughtful of you."

"But you're not a guest," Oswald said quietly. "Look, I know we'll probably have some, er, sleep-overs, and it may not seem like you need a room of your own. But let's face it, we all know I'm a little trying. A brilliant mind like yours needs a place to decompress. You'll probably want to get away  _from both of us_ ," Oswald added, tapping on Martin's curly head, "and this way you'll have your own space. We can even get you a drafting table if you like."

Jeremiah was utterly speechless.

Martin headed to the doorway and gestured for Jeremiah to follow. The pale man looked at Oswald helplessly, but Oswald only shrugged. Jeremiah followed Martin down the hall and the boy led him into the room right next to Oswald's. Elijah and Grace kept separate bedrooms that shared an en suite bathroom, and Jeremiah had no reason to change the structure when he had the renovations done. 

"Martin, this is very nice. But I feel like I'd be encroaching on your father's space."

"Nonsense. It's a great idea." Jeremiah turned at the sound of Oswald's voice. "Look, you can leave some clothes here so you don't have to worry about an overnight bag. It's perfect."

_**You're part of our family, right?** _

"Jeremiah, we don't get to pick the families we're born into. But if we're lucky enough, we can choose a new family." He took Jeremiah's hands into his own. "We choose you." 

Martin nodded vigorously, unruly curls bouncing.

Jeremiah glanced back and forth between the two of them and then sighed, defeated.

"Cobblepots. The whole lot of them are sneaky devils," Jeremiah murmured as he closed the distance between them and kissed Oswald deeply.

Martin slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him with a smile.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me  
> Distracting, reacting  
> Against my will I stand beside my own reflection  
> It's haunting how I can't seem  
> To find myself again  
> My walls are closing in  
> I've felt this way before  
> So insecure  
> Crawling in my skin
> 
> \- Linkin Park, "Crawling"
> 
> Although Martin can't speak with his voice, someone recognizes his body language and takes action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to come a little later in our story, but sometimes the muse just keeps pecking away at your brain until you write down all the things that keep pestering you. So, it's a little sooner than I wanted originally but it will work in this part of the timeline.
> 
> Trigger warning: child abuse.

It didn't take long for Oswald to move his and Martin's belongings over to the Van Dahl estate. He wasn't quite ready to part with the Falcone mansion so he kept it for business meetings. He wanted to try and keep his new home free of criminal activity so it could be a true place of rest.

On day 117 after the destruction of the bridges, Jeremiah wandered around his living quarters deciding what to pack and leave over at Oswald's.

"Here are the boxes you wanted. What are you doing, anyway?" Ecco asked from the doorway.

"I don't know," the pale man murmured. "I frankly don't know what I'm doing. Against my better judgment, I'm bringing some of my things over to the Van Dahl estate."

Her face brightened with surprise as she came into the room. "You're moving in with him?"

"What? No." Jeremiah sat on the sofa and needlessly rubbed his palms on his pants. "Yes. No. It's not really moving in, is it though? It's just leaving things there so I don't need an overnight bag."

"Mmm hmm."

"Oh, stop smirking at me, woman," he grumbled, getting back up and checking the neat stack of clothes he'd made (for the sixth time). He turned to the garment bag on the door. "Do you think I should bring another suit, or will three suffice?"

***

After a couple of weeks, there was a real sense of normalcy at the estate. Jeremiah stayed over more often than not, but neither he nor Oswald were usually present during the day. Martin continued his homeschooling with Mr. Santos, the man who Oswald hired after he had ratted out those cretins who mistreated Martin during the time he was abducted.

Oswald became quite absorbed in his bridge construction contract. He had, of course, won the bid. Other bidders had either pulled out at the last minute or were found dead - with a strange talisman left at the scene: the Joker from a normal deck of playing cards. The acting city councilman, a fellow who merely filed papers, quickly signed the contract for Oswald and let the man's project team get to work. When Oswald wasn't giving orders to the General Contractor overseeing the bridge crew, he organized and handled a flourishing weapons trade on Jeremiah's behalf.

Jeremiah alternated between the Stravinsky and City Hall when he needed to meet with representatives of the families.

No one had yet inquired about the missing Tabitha Galavan.

***

"Oh, Cobblepots! I'm here early and bearing gifts." Normally when Jeremiah came through the door, Martin was quickly at his side to take whatever goodies he'd brought with him: it could be Thai food, ice cream, or steaming hot chicken parm from one of the only pizza joints still open in Gotham. But today, Martin slowly wandered out of the kitchen behind Mr. Santos, seemingly distracted. If Jeremiah didn't know any better, he'd say Martin was moping.

"Mr. J, good to see you." Miguel Santos held out his hand to shake Jeremiah's own.

"Yes, you as well. It's been a while. I understand you've been schooling our boy, here." Jeremiah put a hand on Martin's shoulder, surprised when the boy startled. He quickly took his hand away. Jeremiah was more aware than most of respecting the physical boundaries of others given his own reluctance to touch strangers, but he hadn't remembered Martin being aloof. Just the opposite, actually.

"Yes, spending time with my favorite student is the best job in the world." He turned to the boy. "See you tomorrow Martin." Martin inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement before peeking in the bag Jeremiah had set on the hall table.

"Good night, Mr. Santos." He stepped aside to let the teacher out and then smiled at Martin once the door was secured. "Chinese food tonight. You Cobblepots really need to get a housekeeper that can actually use a stove. It's time for you to have home cooked meals again, yes?"

Martin brightened at the mention of Chinese food and then raised a fist in victory when he read the circled items on the menu stapled to the bag. 

"Well you didn't think I'd dare come here without spring rolls and wonton soup after the last time, did you?" he teased. Martin gave him an abbreviated hug and took the bag to the kitchen.

Jeremiah's brow furrowed as he texted Oswald to see when he'd be home, and then texted Ecco with an assignment.

Oswald came in the door not long after, sniffing at the air and hobbling quickly down the hall to make sure no one had eaten his sweet and sour shrimp. In the kitchen, he beamed to see his two favorite men munching away; Jeremiah gracefully maneuvering his pork lo mein with a pair of wooden chopsticks, and Martin dropping little crispy fried noodles into his soup in between bites of crunchy spring roll.

"This is just what a man needs to see at the end of his workday," Oswald sighed dramatically as Jeremiah pulled his chair out for him. "Thank you, my dear." 

"You're welcome, my darling," Jeremiah echoed, winking at Martin who almost spit out a noodle in a fit of silent giggles. The boy really enjoyed having dinner with both of his "dads" and wished it happened more often. "Oswald, I really think we need to look into a proper housekeeper."

"What's wrong with Beverly?" Oswald asked between bites.

"She can do laundry but can't cook worth a damn," Jeremiah complained. "You of all people should understand the value of a healthy, home cooked meal." Then he looked at Martin and said in a stage whisper, "The boy can't eat junk food all the time."

Martin tapped his spoon on the table and shook his head frantically in disagreement. 

Oswald chuckled and agreed after he washed down some shrimp with his white wine. "You're right, of course. I've been so preoccupied, I didn't even realize how long it's been since the last cook left. We haven't had one since we moved in here, have we?" Martin shook his head. "I'll call an agency tomorrow. I bet we'll have someone inside of a week, just wait and see. But maybe I can cook for a few days! I can try to leave work early and make a big Hungarian spread just like my mother used to."

Jeremiah tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk at Martin's horrified expression. 

"Oh, and maybe you could consider enrolling Martin in private school at some point. Maybe even St. Ignatius when it reopens." Jeremiah watched both Cobblepots for a reaction.

Oswald looked pensive for a moment. "Perhaps if the school year starts up again in September. Or he can just continue his home schooling."

Martin just kept eating, no change in expression nor eye contact. Yet, his shoulders seemed slumped.

*** 

"Anything from the first investigation?"

"Negative."

"Move to plan B. Don't leave a trace. I don't want him spooked."

***

The next day, the King of Gotham had yet another audience to host. After Barry Nouper, head of "transportation services" met his untimely death at the first meeting of the families, his position remained open for almost a month until a new head was nominated. The second-in-command brought the new head of the family to meet with Jeremiah.

"So, you're the guy everyone's been talking about. Glad to meet ya. Name's Victor Zsasz." The former hitman extended his gloved hand to Jeremiah, who stared at the offending garment in disdain. "Oh, sorry." Zsasz took off the glove. The light caught on his array of silver rings as he and Jeremiah shook hands.

"Mr. Zsasz. I trust you'll call me either Jeremiah or Mr. Valeska? Referring to me as 'the guy everyone's been talking about' simply isn't formal enough for my tastes."

"Right! Sorry 'bout that. I'm just used to, you know, assassinating people. Not the most social of animals. Guess I'll need to work on that."

"Do." Jeremiah sat behind his desk. "Now, down to business. Since you are someone who hasn't run an organization before, I'm surprised and pleased with the uptick in revenue in just the past week. You do seem to know how to keep people in line. If you use your, er, murder skills as the persuasion tool, I'm all for it. Just don't get sloppy. I don't want Jim Gordon nosing around your territory."

Zsasz nodded as he took an envelope of cash out of his jacket pocket. "Don't I know it. But me and Jimbo, we go way back. Just like me and Penguin," he added, handing over the money. "Waaaay back."

Jeremiah merely raised an eyebrow before tucking the envelope in his own breast pocket.

"Good day, Mr. Zsasz. Do let us know if we can be of any assistance in keeping order." He nodded toward the guard, who gave Zsasz and his companion back their ammunition and unloaded guns at the door.

Ecco murmured after the door was closed, "Why, that man appeared to be completely _hairless_." Jeremiah chuckled and counted the money before putting it in the safe built into the floor.

***

"Report?"

"It's not good." 

"Photos?"

"Not...really. Nothing home made, if that's what you mean. "

"But you found something."

"Magazines, the type I think you're looking for. Turned my stomach. Websites too, but we'd need someone to hack the passwords."

"Leave everything as you found it. There's something else you can do for me."

***

Four days after Jeremiah brought home the Chinese food, he sat quietly in the greenhouse at the back of the Van Dahl property. It was very near the main house, and he thought maybe in the spring Oswald might want to grow some lilies in there. Right now, though? Jeremiah was using the greenhouse as a surveillance outpost.

He'd observed Martin for the past few days and was increasingly convinced that his gut feeling of foreboding was not in his imagination.

He listened intently through a headset to the voice activated microphones he'd had installed in the middle of the night while Oswald and Martin were sleeping. Not knowing what rooms to bug, he'd bugged all of them. Today there had simply been no time to adequately test the equipment, so no way of knowing what quality of vocals he'd pick up. The mansion's acoustics were not ideal for spying. After Martin's lessons started, all Jeremiah could hear was the lessons themselves: history, math, science, with a lot of pen scribbles on notepaper; the answers repeated aloud by the teacher. Jeremiah was about to give it up for the day when the one-sided conversation now taking place in the sun room got his attention. 

**"Great job...(muffled audio) homework. Did you think ...(muffled audio)...reward...sweetie?"**

_(Scribbles)_

**"(muffled audio)...know your...(muffled audio)...not what I mean (muffled audio)...it."**

_(Scribbles)_

**"(muffled audio)...I did for you? (muffled audio)...grateful you were."**

_[...]_

Jeremiah hated waiting this long. He really, really wanted to be wrong.

**"Good boy (muffled audio)...what I want.  You **(muffled audio) my**  special (muffled audio) like that."**

_[...]_

**"Let me show you."**

Those last four words set off too many bells in his head.

After visiting during the renovations, Jeremiah knew the house pretty well and could make his way through the kitchen door without a sound. He stepped over the two creaky floorboards and stopped just to the left of the doorway.

The scene itself wasn't that incriminating.

It was the look of sad resignation on the boy's face that convinced Jeremiah he'd been right to follow his instincts.

"Hands off the boy, Mr. Santos."

Miguel Santos was so startled, he nearly levitated off the cast iron bench.

"Martin, would you come here please?" The boy swiftly jumped up and ran to Jeremiah's side.

"You know who I am. And yet, here we are."

The most feared man in Gotham cocked his wrist and aimed his spring action gun at Martin's teacher.

"Mr. J, wait."

"I brought you into our lives. I let you into our home and trusted you with our boy." 

"Mr. J, it's not what you think."

"How long?"

"What..."

"How long have you been trying to wear him down to get to this point?"

"I can explain," Santos said, but he knew they were hollow words.

"That won't be necessary." Without taking his eyes off of Santos, he said quietly, "Turn away, Martin." But Martin stared right at Santos as Jeremiah shot the teacher in the head.

Of course, this would be the day Penguin kept his word and managed to come home early.

"My God! What the hell is going on here?" Oswald screeched from behind them. 

Martin had been holding onto Jeremiah's suit jacket and cringed at the sound of Penguin's shrill voice, burying his face into Jeremiah's side.

"It's alright, Martin," Jeremiah murmured. The pale man engaged the safety and docilely tossed the gun to the floor, knowing that Oswald had likely already pulled his own weapon when he heard the gunshot. "I'm unarmed Oz." He held his hands up.

"Jesus, that was the fucking HOME SCHOOL TEACHER WE AGREED ON! What did you DO?"

Martin pushed his face harder into Jeremiah's torso and the pale man laid a hand on his curly hair. "Martin, listen to me."

The boy pulled back and glanced at Oswald before focusing on Jeremiah again. Oswald holstered his gun and crept closer, seeing that neither Martin nor Jeremiah were hurt.

Jeremiah crouched to Martin's eye level. "You need to understand something. This is very important. You never, _ever_ , have to let someone touch you. You can go to your Poppa or come to me. Tell one of us. If you are ever the slightest bit uncomfortable about something someone wants you to do, you have people you can talk to. People you can trust. Even the police if you must."

Martin sniffled, the tears finally making their way down his face.

"You didn't do anything wrong. This wasn't your fault. _Nothing_ that happened here was your fault. Okay?"

Martin finally nodded, then he threw himself against Jeremiah's chest. 

"Alright. It's alright. We didn't know. We would have taken care of it sooner." He rubbed the back of the boy's suit jacket and glanced back at Oswald who had a look of dawning horror on his face. "Martin, do you want me to talk to your Poppa or do you want to?"

The boy leaned away and pointed at Jeremiah.

"Okay. Go give Poppa a hug before you go upstairs, alright?"

"Martin, are you okay?" Oswald asked getting down on his good knee to squeeze Martin as tight as he could. "I'll come up to see you later. I love you." Martin nodded, hugged Oswald back and ran out of the room.

When he turned back to the sun room, Oswald had another shock. Jeremiah had dumped Santos on the floor once Martin was out of sight, and repeatedly kicked the dead man in the face. 

"I need clean-up. The estate, please," Oswald murmured into his phone. "Someone thorough, the boy has had a bad fright and we...don't need any more drama."

He disconnected and addressed Jeremiah.

"Jerry. Stop. _Please_."

Hands clenched in fists of rage, Jeremiah stopped when he had turned Miguel Santos's face into unrecognizable hamburger meat. Then he angrily tugged his shoes off and tossed them next to the body.

"Ruined a good fucking pair of shoes," he bitched as he stalked past Oswald to pour himself a glass of scotch. 

Oswald followed behind, cowed by the events that he still didn't fully understand.  _So much for keeping the estate crime-free. What in the FUCK just happened here?_  


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you insane like me?  
> Are you in pain like me?  
> Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?  
> Just to pour that mother fucker down the drain like me?
> 
> You can't wake up, this is not a dream  
> You're part of a machine, you are not a human being  
> With your face all made up, living on a screen  
> Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline
> 
> \- Halsey, "Gasoline"
> 
> Chapter 40, in which Oswald learns that there are different degrees of secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: continues from the previous chapter re: child abuse.

Jeremiah sipped his drink and waited for his hands to stop shaking before pouring one for Oswald and pushing it to the edge of the bar top. It was a rare thing, flying into a rage that couldn't be tamped down by some act of violence. Admittedly, his acts of violence usually were not of the one-on-one sort. But aside from ruining his footwear, he had no regrets.

"Thank you." Oswald cautiously approached, having never seen Jeremiah so out of control before. "Do you...can you tell me what happened here? Does the boy need a doctor?"

After a period of interminable silence, the other man spoke. "Doctor?" Jeremiah turned finally to look at Oswald. "Oh. No, I don't think so. Maybe a psychiatrist at some point...but not a medical doctor. The...touching was over the clothes."

"Jesus Christ. Where the hell have I been that I didn't know what was happening in my own house?"

"To be fair, you've been very preoccupied with your projects..."

"That's not the point! You're busy too, so how...what..." Oswald sputtered, feeling his own anger rising again. "And I could have shot you earlier! Imagine walking in to gunshots in your own house."

"I know."

Oswald slammed his glass down on the bar. "Tell me how you found out."

"Martin had been acting a little...off." Jeremiah patted at his jacket pocket and quietly cursed when he realized he'd left his cigarettes in the greenhouse.

"Here. Have one," Oswald lit one of his own and handed it over. "What's a little smoke in the house? It's not like there isn't already a mutilated dead body in the next room."

"Think about what I would have done if he wasn't already dead." He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out through his nose. "So, Martin had been acting different and something about it bothered me."

"Different, how?" 

"When I came home earlier this week with the Chinese food?" Oswald nodded. "Santos was leaving and Martin wasn't his usual ebullient self. He was sullen and distant, wouldn't hold eye contact and was even a bit jumpy when I touched him. It didn't sit right with me. It's not like he comes into contact with a whole lot of people. So, I didn't think it was the housekeeper, and the bodyguards change often enough; there was something about the way he acted in front of the teacher. So I had Santos tailed."

"Tailed? Seems like a big leap from 'Martin is acting off' to 'let me have the teacher shadowed,' don't you think?"

"Who's telling this story? Are you going to listen?"

"Sorry," Oswald grumbled, pacing over to open a window and let the smoke dissipate. "Go ahead."

"Thank you. So the tail didn't give me much of anything after two days other than what he picks up for dinner. But the family he used to have? Gone. I don't know if they left because of the situation in the city or because of his...proclivities but...he's living alone now."

This time, Oswald didn't interrupt.

"I had his apartment searched and they unearthed his collection of child pornography magazines."

"Holy fuck."

"He also frequents...frequented, rather, a few secure websites that I didn't bother hacking into. The magazines were enough for me to feel Martin was in danger."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Oswald growled.

"Because you would have killed him _before_ you confirmed anything."

"Well, sure! Why would I wait until he actually put his fucking hands on the boy?"

"Again. Who is telling this story? Keep in mind, he's had access to Martin for more than a month now. Martin only started being skittish and withdrawn this week."

Oswald nodded. "So how did you happen to come in at the right moment?"

"I had surveillance installed."

"When?"

"Uh, last night."

"Last night." Oswald repeated, incredulous. "While I was asleep?"

"Yes. Granted, not the most sophisticated set-up I've ever had. I'm more the closed-circuit television type, myself, but in a pinch this was enough. I listened in,"

"To a mute," Oswald sniped.

"Yes, wise ass. To a mute. The teacher wasn't mute, though. And it was actually fairly easy to tell when Martin was writing on that little pad around his neck - the pen nib makes a distinctive scratching sound against the paper resting on the metal backing. Good job that it's like a little clipboard."

That shut Oswald up.

"When I didn't like the direction of the conversation after review of Martin's homework followed by a lack of audible response, I came in and surprised the bastard. I got Martin out of the way, confronted the teacher and shot him. End of story." 

Oswald was about to ask another question when the door chime interrupted them. 

"Sanitation, I presume," Jeremiah sighed wearily.

"Yes, I called for it while you were... _occupied_ making hash out of the teacher's face. I'll let them in."

Jeremiah finished his drink and cigarette and poured another drink, topping off Oswald's as well. He held out his hands, satisfied that they were no longer shaking. But he still felt a white-hot rage in his belly.

When Oswald returned, Jeremiah suggested, "Look, you should go see the boy..."

"We're not quite done here. I still have questions. I don't like that you kept me in the dark."

"Oswald, if I was being overly dramatic, I didn't want to stir up turmoil. It was only a hunch."

"A _hunch_? See, now that's part of what's bothering me. I'm the one who is usually over-dramatic here. I've known the boy for more than a year! I've spent days and nights with him, ate with him, educated him, played games with him, nursed him through a couple of colds. Rescued him from life in an orphanage. Faked his _death_ , for fuck's sake! If there was something different going on with him, _why didn't I pick up on it_?" 

"Maybe because you didn't know what you were seeing."

"What the hell does that even mean? That I'm a bad parent? What makes _you_ so much more qualified than me all of a sudden?"

Jeremiah flexed his fingers in anger; swore he would not punch Oswald no matter what was said here.

"Answer me, God damn it! Why would you be analyzing Martin's behavior? That's a little creepy, come to think of it."

"Are you glad I stopped this before it went too far or not?" Jeremiah asked, in a dangerously toneless voice. He tossed back the last of his drink and turned to stare Oswald down.

"It's just...you're going on about him acting different, his body language being unusual like _you_ would know what to look for! God damn it, it's not like you have any experience raising children. How would you know the first fucking thing about child molestation and what his-" at the affronted look on Jeremiah's face, Oswald froze in mid-sentence. "Oh, no. Oh, my God-?"

"Just go see how the boy is. I'll...make him a sandwich or something." Jeremiah padded out of the room, leaving a mortified Oswald staring helplessly at his retreating back.

***

"I should bring him some water." Oswald announced from the kitchen doorway.  Jeremiah was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Martin.

"Might as well take this with you, I thought you would have gone up already." 

"Wanted to see if you were alright," Oswald murmured, clutching the water bottle.

"Me?" Jeremiah chuckled. "I'm just fine. Let's focus on Martin here. Please."

"You're not going to burn the house down, are you?"

Jeremiah burst out laughing. "I must be getting too predictable if you have to ask me that. No, no. I like this place. But no promises for the rest of Gotham."

Oswald smiled. "I'd offer to bring you down another pair of shoes, but you probably want to change out of those pants too." Naturally, the right cuff was soaked in blood and viscera, and blood spatter randomly decorated both legs below the knees.

"Clearly I hadn't planned appropriately. I should have worn something water repellent." More seriously, he added, "Oswald, if he doesn't want to share any information with you right now, don't insist. And if he wants, tell him I'm around too."

"I will." Oswald took the plate and leaned up to kiss Jeremiah gently on the jaw. "Thank you. Really."

Jeremiah shrugged. "We're family."

It was only when he was halfway up the staircase that the importance of that last statement hit Oswald.

***

Oswald knocked lightly and opened the door to Martin's room. The boy was seated cross-legged on the floor reading a book, his back against the bed frame.

"Hey, I brought you some water and Mr. J made you a sandwich in case you're getting hungry." Martin got up and took the plate, putting it on his bedside night stand after taking a bite out of one side. Jeremiah had cut the bread on the diagonal, the way Martin liked it. He eagerly drank from the water bottle, finishing half of it in one go. Oswald stood nervously waiting to follow Martin's lead. But all Martin did was pick his book up and this time sat cross-legged on the bed.

"Did you...do you want me to go?" 

The boy shrugged. 

"Is there anything I can do? I'm so sorry. We thought since you got along so well, he would be a good choice."

Martin nodded and then scribbled in his notepad.

 _**He was. For a while. Then he got**_ **_weird._**

"Weird?" Oswald sat on the edge of the bed as he felt his stomach churn.

_**Hugging me too much, I guess?  It was just weird.** _

"Like how I hug you?"

Martin crinkled his nose.

_**A little? But longer, and sort of smelling my hair or something.** _

"But he didn't just hug you today."

The boy shook his head. 

_**Can I read my book right now, Poppa? And please don't fight - you and Mr. J were getting loud.** _

"We're not fighting, I promise. We're just both upset that something ugly happened to you."

_**It's okay. Tell Mr J thank you. I could tell he was very angry but he was so calm.** _

Oswald's breath caught.  _Oh, if you only knew._ "I will thank him, indeed. If you're up to it, come downstairs later?"

Martin nodded and Oswald got up, careful not to touch the boy unnecessarily. 

When he stepped out into the hallway, he heard the shower running and looked at his watch. He'd gotten home just after 2:30 and it was already hours later. He was in no mood to cook now, so he sent one of the drivers out for pizza (again). At least he'd be trying out a new housekeeper on Monday and maybe they could eat on a regular schedule again. 

When it was time (and he didn't know when that would be), he'd need to look into a therapist for Martin.

And then he thought about Jeremiah recognizing Martin's avoidance behaviors. Apparently from experience.

_Oh, my love. Who hurt you like that?_

_On the off chance they're still alive, it's my turn to kill someone._


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is my conscience?  
> Where is my salvation?  
> We've become the prey  
> And the hunter has no patience  
> There's nothing I can say  
> To make this go away  
> Why did I chase it?
> 
> \- Big Data, "Monster"
> 
> Oswald finally gets a glimpse into Jeremiah's psyche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but rather than start a new part of the story in this chapter, it made sense to stop here. But we're no where near the end, dear readers. Much more to come for Jeremiah and Oswald - good and bad, just like life.

"Food's on the way," Oswald said on the other side of the bathroom door once the shower went off. 

He sat on his bed and thought about what to say to Jeremiah. Maybe he shouldn't say anything at all.

A few minutes later, Jeremiah opened the door and stepped into Oswald's room in a bathrobe, still rubbing water out of his hair. Without the styling product, he could see that he hadn't been imagining things; his hair had a tinge of green to it.

"Your hair...it's-" Oswald waved a hand uselessly and then just shook his head.

"Yes. I was wondering when you'd notice," Jeremiah smirked. "The gel usually makes it look much darker, doesn't it?"

"Is it really greenish?" 

"Funny story. So, Ecco lightened my hair so I could impersonate my brother for a film, and then she dyed it back to a close approximation of my regular color for me to work at Wayne Enterprises. Imagine my surprise when it started oxidizing to a green patina. I thought it was the dye interacting with Scarecrow's gas. I attempted to dye it black to rid myself of the green, but it continues to oxidize. I may have to give up dyeing it altogether and just accept looking like a leafy plant."

Oswald looked him over. "The green suits you. Goes well with your eyes."

"So you're okay with it? Well. That's half the battle, thank you."

"Are you?"

He shrugged. "Just another consequence. I've accepted the permanent change to my skin, I guess I can live with a change to my hair. I'm going to get some clothes on, okay?"

"Yes, of course."

"You're welcome to follow."

Oswald trailed behind Jeremiah, still trying to decide how to approach what happened downstairs. He was thankfully distracted for a few minutes watching Jeremiah get dressed, admiring that beautifully chiseled, ghostly white body.

"You said something about food?" Jeremiah asked, tugging a t-shirt over his head. The man still looked perfectly put together, even in sleepwear. "I hope you don't mind my attire, I'm a little wiped out."

"No, of course not. This is your home, too." Jeremiah raised an eyebrow and Oswald shrugged. "You know what I mean. Speaking of which..."

Jeremiah sat on the bed. "Is this going to be an interrogation?"

"No. Not at all. I just wanted to say thank you. For what you did for Martin. I've considered what you said and if you'd like to have CCTV installed, I'm fine with it. You can put a control room in the basement, or wherever you think best. It was rather resourceful of you to set up microphones in such a hurry."

Jeremiah patted the spot next to him and Oswald quickly sat. "I apologize for acting like I owned the house, Oswald. I was prepared to remove the surveillance."

"No, I'd like you to install state of the art equipment. It's for the best."

"What would have been for the best is that I'd never recommended that fiend to you in the first place. I blame myself for everything that went down," Jeremiah said with regret, dropping his head into his hands.

"Don't do that. You recommended him, but I vetted his background and credentials."

The pale man sighed and looked at Oswald again. "I did, too."

Oswald shook his head. "There's no way we could have known. Though I wonder why anyone would be so foolish, working for the two of us. He had to know he was dead if he was discovered." He tentatively put a hand on Jeremiah's arm. "I've frankly never seen you in such a fury. It scared me."

"I would never harm you or Mar..."

"Wait, that's not what I mean. I mean I was scared _for_ you, not of you. That level of anger was something I'd never imagined was inside of you."

Jeremiah nodded. "I can usually hold it back. I've had an exceptionally short and violent temper since childhood and have spent years learning how to redirect it and channel the energy into something else. And yes, I've seen a psychiatrist, before you ask."

Oswald squeezed Jeremiah's forearm. "Wasn't going to ask. Though I wonder if you could recommend them for Martin?"

"No," Jeremiah chuckled, "I don't think she'd be the right fit. She doesn't practice anymore. But we'll find someone."

"So..." Oswald started, shifting a little on the bed.

"So, food?" Jeremiah suggested again.

"Yes, it's pizza. We can go now. But..."

"I don't want to talk about it, and I sense that's where you're trying to lead me."

"Just. If there is someone I need to track down and punish?"

Jeremiah smiled. "Oh, no. No, the individual in question is long dead. Wish I'd had the chance for it to have been at my hand, but they met a grisly end. Not as satisfying as doing it myself, but it's over."

"I'm so sorry, Jer, I didn't know."

Jeremiah felt his expression soften at the genuine sadness in Oswald's voice. "You were never meant to know, my dear. Some things are just not for the telling."

They both stood to head downstairs, but when Oswald got to the door, Jeremiah unexpectedly continued. 

"It's just...I was so struck by the change in Martin...it was subtle, yes, but I felt like I was looking in a mirror at my own 9-year old self. I couldn't..." His voice thickened with emotion, surprising Oswald with how out of character it was. "...couldn't let him go through that. I'd hoped I was wrong but, my gut told me to pursue it." 

"Can I ask-"

Jeremiah met Oswald's gaze and waited. 

"What you told him, how he didn't have to accept it, that he could tell us or _anyone_. Who did you tell?"

Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment.

"Hard to tell people when the abuser is your own mother, Ozzie."

Oswald audibly gasped, not really knowing what he'd expected. Just, not _that_. 

"The last thing I needed was for my brother and I to be split up in the foster care system. It's what kept me from killing her. I learned to endure. Even to use it to my advantage when necessary. But I never forgot the way it made me feel. Helpless. Impotent. Ashamed."

Oswald nodded, for once knowing he should be silent.

"Filled with rage," he added with clenched teeth, "I'm sure it's at least partially where my desire to destroy things comes from. Imagining Martin in that scenario, turning into someone like _me?_   No. Had Martin not been there to witness it, I don't think I would have killed that prick as quickly as I did. He deserved a drawn-out, _horrific_ death."

Jeremiah laughed, a short, ugly sound.

"Whomever I kill next, I expect them to get what I wasn't able to give Santos. In _spades_."


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My life is changing in so many ways  
> I don't know who to trust anymore  
> There's a shadow running through my days  
> Like a beggar goin' from door to door  
> I was thinkin' that maybe I'd get a maid  
> Find a place nearby for her to stay  
> Just someone to keep my house clean  
> Fix my meals and go away
> 
> \- Neil Young, "A Man Needs a Maid"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some well-placed, if somewhat short, comic relief. A character returns from the past.

On Monday morning, the door chimed promptly at 8 am. Oswald smoothed his suit jacket and hobbled down the hallway to open the door himself. Jeremiah had beefed up security, so the Penguin had no concerns about being ambushed. He was just eager to get the new housekeeper set up and ready to go.

"Coming," he called, even though he knew the door was soundproof and no one would hear him from the outside. 

There on his doorstep stood his former housekeeper.

"Olga?" 

"Is me, Mr. Penguin."

"I didn't even think to ask the agency if you worked for them! Welcome back!"

The Russian woman stood stiffly as Oswald embraced her, but a small smile graced her features. 

"Da. When request come in, Olga see is for Van Dahl property. Ask for job. See if Mr. Penguin living here again."

"Wonderful. And your English has improved so much! Come in, yes?"

Olga winced inwardly, having forgotten that she pretended to know little English when she worked for him the last time. "Da. Tall man with riddles is not here I hope?"

Oswald smiled. "No, no. He's not...but there are a few other people in the house." After hanging up her coat he walked with her to the library, where they were nearly run over by an eager Martin wanting to meet the new help.

"Who is boy?"

"This is my son Martin. Martin, this is Olga. She is our new housekeeper."

"I not new."

Oswald grinned, thrilled that Olga was as cheeky as ever.

Martin bowed and waited patiently.

Olga was puzzled. "I not understand. Where boy is from?" She looked Oswald up and down as if to imply that he could not possibly have fathered a child.

"Martin was living at an orphanage that I invested in and after a time I adopted him. He is speech impaired, so don't be insulted if he does not greet you by name. He's not deaf - in fact," he murmured conspiratorially, "he hears better than all of us. But he has been unable to project his voice since we met."

The middle-aged woman's face softened at Oswald's words. "Mr. Martin, I like quiet children. We will get along fine." She turned back to Oswald. "Other people are here too?"

As she finished her question, Jeremiah strode into the room affixing a flower to his lapel. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the imposing woman with her blond beehive and rouged lips.

"Oh. I'm interrupting. My apologies."

"Jeremiah, you're just in time. Olga, this is..."

"Do not say. I recognize from news. This is man who bombs things," Olga sneered. 

"Well, that's not..."

"Mr. Penguin, buildings and bridges gone. Buses and trains run bad. Had to buy used car to get around Gotham. You-" she pointed at Jeremiah and made a 'tch' sound with her teeth, "-cause much trouble."

Jeremiah's eyes sparkled but he said nothing.

"Olga!" Oswald, stomped a foot, finally taking back control of the conversation. "If you wish to work here again, you will treat my family with respect."

"Family?" She looked Jeremiah over more carefully. The pale man stood tall under her scrutiny.

"That's right. Jeremiah is my partner. Um, my..."

"Paramour?" Jeremiah asked smoothly, enjoying the discomfort on Penguin's face. _Such a pretty blush._

She nodded at Jeremiah. "Fine, will ask for pay increase. Mr. Penguin is difficult enough-"

"Hey!"

"- with his work, but two difficult men mean hazard pay for me." Oswald gaped like a fish, sputtering but forming no words. Martin moved closer and held his elbow.

"Listen me. You not hurt Mr. Penguin or else." Olga took two steps closer to Jeremiah and produced a small pearl-handled pistol from her lace apron.

"WAIT!" Oswald yelled, pushing Martin behind him. Neither Olga nor Jeremiah flinched.

"I keep this handy." She turned and looked at Oswald critically. "Safety on, silly."

Jeremiah giggled. "Oh, I like her," he said to no one in particular. "What did Oswald say your name was? Olga? Yes. Yes, indeed. We definitely can use another set of balls around here. You're perfect. Name's Jeremiah Valeska." 

Olga quirked an eyebrow. "Valeshka. Is Eastern European?"

Jeremiah smiled at her pronunciation of his name. "No, Central. I'm Polish. But I do enjoy blini and oladi. Do you make them?"

"Do I make them? Ha. You will see. Have made Hungarian palacsinta for Mr. Penguin. Can cook Polish for you. Barszcz czerwony not so different from borscht."

"Great, next they'll be trading recipes," Oswald murmured, clutching his head. Jeremiah winked at Martin who giggled soundlessly.

"Mr. Valeshka, have you, uh...crime alias like Mr. Penguin?"

"Not quite yet. I'm working on that."

Oswald interrupted, impatient. "So. Olga. Let me show you around the place."

Olga sniffed. "No necessary. Go about business. I remember house." She looked around the room they were in. "Clean. Restored. Am impressed."

"That was Jeremiah's doing. He had the house renovated for me. It fell into disrepair over the past year or so."

"I see." She gave Jeremiah the side-eye. "You don't tell riddles do you, Mr. Valeshka?"

"No, ma'am. Though I do have a rather odd sense of humor."

"Oh yes," Oswald said sarcastically, forcing a smile. "He's quite a card. A real joker, if you will."

Jeremiah snapped his fingers twice and pointed at Oswald. "That! That was what I was supposed to talk to Ecco about after the meeting with the families, remember?" He took out his phone. "That was it. I remember now why I liked using those cards."

"You hear echo?" Olga asked, confused.

"Never mind!" Oswald and Jeremiah both said at once. 

Martin flopped into the nearest chair and covered his face, shoulders shaking with laughter.  


End file.
